Only Therapy Could Save Us
by The Dreamer Eternal
Summary: Tony gets severely injured, and the rest of his team have to find help from the least likely person to do so. But the line between friend and foe starts to blur, and they have to decide to hold onto old grudges, or to accept a new ally. Rating is T, but watch out for some language, wicked master spies, and Tony whump. Follow/fav/review! Starring all Avengers, Loki, and others.
1. You Had a Bad Day

**Hello, all! Yes, it is I, Dreamer. I know, I know. It's been a while since I last posted anything. If you're looking for anything to do with "Ties", you're in the wrong place. This is a competition fic, with me, Girl-luvs-manga, and writtingnut135723. So if you read this one, be sure to read theirs and pick your favorite, or just read this one and R&amp;R. If you do decide to vote for one of us, then leave a review saying your choice or you can visit one of our profiles and do a poll, which will hopefully be up soon. FYI, we all have the same basic plot/storyline and it's under the same title, but we'll be trying to make each one as unique as possible. So without further ado, Only Therapy Could Save Us! (BTW, the chapter name is from the song of the same name by Daniel Powter.)**

Chapter 1: You Had a Bad Day

Tony thinks that this day might just possibly be the worst day he's ever had. Worse that the day Obie stabbed him in the back, worse than the day his parents died, even worse than Afghanistan. First, he had woken up early because Pepper had wanted him to go to a meeting where he sat through two hours of lectures and paper pushing. The subject of the meeting was even about how a company he had invested in was losing stocks. The cup of coffee he had gotten to save himself was even burned. When he had taken his first sip, he wasn't expecting the heat and spilled it all over his best Armani suit. Then he had slunk off like a chastised puppy to the training room, where he got his ass handed to him by a certain Russian superspy for the umpteenth day in a row. And he'd had such a good feeling about the suit's new weapons upgrade too. But a surprise mission from Fury was the fucking cherry on top. No, wait. Scratch that. The absolute worst part of his day was getting a missile shot at him and being injected with a questionable liquid by a known supervillain.

_Three hours before_

"I don't need this crap, I'm Tony fucking Stark, for crying out loud!" Tony grumbled as he twisted around an incoming rocket from an RPG. "Hey, Thor! Here's people who you can actually call 'Metal Man'!" He said jovially down to his teammate.

"I agree, Son of Howard. This is most disrespectful." Thor scowled as he swung around his hammer in circles wide enough to take care of seven at a blow.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Point Break. Leave my father out of this. My daddy issues are going to take years of therapy just to air out all my dirty laundry." Tony pushed the unpleasant reminder out of his head and blasted another Doombot, with more force than was necessary.

Since there was a lull in the battle, Tony hovered to take stock. Doombots were running rampant in the downtown streets with no sign of their creator. Clint was up on the Quinjet, but only his exploding arrows were doing much. Natasha was piloting the plane, but took breaks every so often to sneak behind a fleeing runner to take them down and to powder her nose. Thor was in the air with Tony taking down the ones that could fly. Hulk was on the ground happily smashing Doombots into the ground, walls, other Doombots, and occasionally other teammates. Steve was also on the ground keeping a nonexistent boundary up, and dodging dismembered halves from Hulk. Jarvis kept a steady stream up, of alerts and notifications, as he was hooked up to all the cameras in the area. Tony sniffed, and shot over to where some Doombots were hassling Steve.

"Doing good, Gramps. Make sure you don't throw your back out with all this strenuous activity." He teased as he led the bots in a merry chase ending in a bridge.

"Just focus on finding the real Doom, hot shot." Steve shot back as he slammed his shield into a bot, which flew backwards into a wall with a resounding clang.

"Aye, aye, Captain Virgin." Tony jibbed as he circled back before he could get a shield up his ass.

Now that his daily jab at the Captain was done, he could focus on the real task at hand.

"Sir, I am detecting a pattern in the movements of the Doombots." Jarvis spoke up.

"Fantastic. Put them up." A diagram of the bots came on the screen, and Tony could see that there was a commanding officer that received and gave orders to the others. If he took that one out, all the others would shut down.

"Now for the main event, ladies and gentlemen, I will single-handedly thwart Doom's attempt to take over the city and still look cool." He mumbled and set his favorite song on. "Shoot to Thrill" came over the speakers, all available radio stations, including, but not limited to Shield's private frequency.

Tony snuck, ducked, weaved, and sometimes danced his way through a sea of Doombots, and over to where the command bot had been set up with a vanguard of twenty others. He wiggled his fingers, knowing that Doom could see through the cameras they called their eyes, and shook his hips before igniting a laser pack and doing a fancy spin. He took a theatrical bow as the command bot's eyes dimmed down. With the destruction of their leader, all the other Doombots powered down. Natasha landed the Quinjet, and she and Clint jumped out. Steve jogged over, barely breathing hard while Bruce shrunk down to normal size, clutching at his shredded pants.

"Thank you for your help, gentlemen and lady. It wasn't needed, but the sentiment is appreciated." Tony took an elaborate bow as he joined his teammates, flipping his faceplate up as he did so. "Uh, I think this one was all me. I mean, what can Katniss do with his eleven arrows, Cap with his defensive weapon, and Natashalie with her handguns? Thor and Hulk helped out a bit, though, keeping them off my back."

"Uh, _explosive _arrows, thank you very much. And all _you _did was take out, like, thirty. Cap even got more than you, and he's seventy odd years old." Clint scoffed as he scratched the back of his neck with a recycled arrow.

Natasha didn't even bother with a verbal reply. The bullet than whistled past his ear said it all for her. Steve straightened up, and Tony could feel the righteousness surging. In order to avoid the oncoming mom-lecture, Tony fired up his boosters and rose in the air.

"Uh, yeah. Good talk, team. I'll race you guys back. 'Kay? Bye." He grinned as he saw the look of frustration on Steve's face.

"But wait! We haven't even filed an incident report! And you never found Doom!" Steve shouted after him, but Tony just sped on faster.

It only took a couple of minutes to fly there. When he landed, Jarvis booted up the system for disassembling the suit. Left in his sweatpants and an old Black Sabbath tee-shirt, Tony grabbed a whiskey from the bar and headed down to his lab for some genius alone time. He was still in the hallway when he noticed it. Quickly, he grabbed a wrist repulsor and a pair of suit-calling bracelets from underneath a side table and slipped them on. Jarvis was silent. There had been no notifications like there normally was when he landed. The tower was ominously silent. He backtracked to the room he'd come in. Hearing a whisper of cloth against metal, he turned around and saw Doom standing behind him, resplendent in his cape as always.

"You want a drink?" He blurted out the first thing that came to mind as he stepped back a couple feet.

"No. I prefer to not have my wits muddled." Doom returned pleasantly, as if this was a chance meeting between old comrades.

"Suit yourself. See that pun? So. Why are you here, Sparky?"

"Why not?" Doom spread his hands. "I have infiltrated this city. It is mine to control, and the Avengers cannot stop me."

"Yeah, about that attack. We kinda destroyed your army." Tony mock-winced in fake sympathy.

Doom actually chuckled. _Chuckled_. "You think that my influence is limited only to my creations? I have many associates all around the world."

"You know, the last time I was in this room with an ubervillain, I was thrown out that very same window that you're standing behind. How about we switch it up and _you _are the one thrown out of it?" Tony grinned and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I am a god, you dull creature, and I will not be bullied by-." Doom forgot to finish as he was body-slammed by a remote control suit.

Doom crashed through the fateful window as the suit returned to Tony. He strapped in and started after Doom, who had managed to snag onto a flying Doombot.

"Fancy meeting you here." Tony hovered in front of the awkwardly clinging supervillain and grinned toothily. "You know, you're just like Loki. Same lines, same half-assed plans, same _window _even. Finally! I've been waiting for that for over a year."

"Cease your overgrown yapping, you overgrown wood louse, or I will quiet you myself." Doom growled, glaring as much as someone with a full-face mask could glare.

"You need to get better nicknames, Tin Can. And quiet's not really my thing. You see -." Now it was Tony's turn to break off as a missile slammed into him.

System alerts blared in klaxons and the HUD went dark as he spiraled down to the cold, hard, unforgiving concrete. "Uh, Jarvis? How about a little support right now? Like, say, _the emergency boosters_!"

Nothing was working. Tony could feel damaged circuits sparking. He desperately hoped that one of the Avengers would catch him, but the last thing he saw was the ground coming to greet him. When he came to, he was lying in the middle of a small crater with the ruined remnants of his suit scattered around him. A couple of ribs were broken, as was his left arm. His ankle felt like it was made of shattered glass. He was bumped and bruised all over, and could see little flying Dooms circling around his head. He coughed and felt blood mixed with bile make a return journey with some whiskey. Someone chuckled from somewhere, and he turned his head, wincing at the noise it made, and saw Doom leaning over him.

"Not so tough now, eh, Stark?" The asshole drew a hypodermic needle from the inside of his cape and found a vein inside Tony's elbow.

He tried to struggle, but he was too dazed and injured to do much.

"Shh, shh, shh. It's okay. This will only hurt a little. Well, I say a little. What I really mean is a lot." The slimy, viscous liquid entered his veins, burned slowly up his arm, and reached for his heart.

Tony spluttered at the feeling of his insides burning and his skin blistering. His organs were getting razed in the god-awful heat. His vision started to flicker, and he spiraled into darkness. The last thing he heard was Doom's evil chuckle. The last thing he thought was that Doom had to turn more original, and that this had been the worst day he'd _ever _had.

**Aaaand that's chapter 1! Hope you liked it! Did anyone get the Brave Little Tailor reference? I hope no one's too OOC. So if you liked it, then leave a review (that little rectangular button at the bottom of the screen) or follow/fav. I have a lot more to do on this story, so stick around! Any ideas that don't interfere with the basic plotline are welcome! Next chapter will be posted every second Friday. I can only write so fast!**


	2. Fallaces Sunt Rerum Species

Chapter 2: Fallaces Sunt Rerum Species

**It's me again! I talked with the others, and we'll be posting every second Friday with everything up by spring break (all this is subject to change). I have a poll on my profile, so when everything's up, if I could ask you all to vote, that would be excellent! You can always leave reviews too. I can't promise that I can make it a reality, but I will try! Oh, and let me know if there's any errors. I don't have a beta. **

_**Warning: Some Clintasha, but skipped over graphicness. **_

_Natasha P.O.V (Just after battle)_

Natasha hung back as Clint stepped forward to talk to Stark and leaned against the side of the jet. She was tired after the long fight and her leg hurt from when a lucky laser shot clipped it. When Stark insulted her and called her "Natashalie", she couldn't help but smirk a little and show Stark just what her handguns could do. She watched Stark take off impassively, and Cap slump over. Her eyes flicked from teammate to teammate. Thor was as energetic as usual, thinking of nothing but bloodlust and the thrill of victory. Banner was too preoccupied with salvaging his pants to take much notice of anything, much less how Stark hadn't said one word to him. Clint was satisfied and unruffled, and walked around counting up his arrows. She noiselessly stepped over pieces of debris to stand at his shoulder.

"You missed one."

He jumped and looked at her askance. "Where? I don't see any more."

"Up there." She flicked a finger and raised an eyebrow, but when he glanced up, completely missing the direction, she huffed a sigh.

Natasha jumped up high enough and pushed her foot off of the top of Clint's head, catching the bar of a lamplight. She swung around a couple of times to gain momentum, before letting go and carefully plucking the arrow from the shadow of a support beam. She landed in a sideways crouch next to Clint and held out the arrow. Clint raised an eyebrow and whistled.

"Damn, girl. That made me think that you did gymnastics instead of ballet." His eyes raked over her figure as she stood.

When she tensed imperceptibly, Clint's eyes softened and he looked at her with concern. She shook off old memories like a wet dog and forced a smile. She scoffed and punched his arm. He winced and shrugged it off, laughing. Bumping her shoulder with his, she offered a rare sincere smile. They walked back to the rest of the team. Thor had gone, presumably back to Asgard, Banner had rigged a system to hold up his pants, and Cap had regained some dignity.

"All right. Let's go up and regroup back at the Tower." Cap scratched his still-perfect hair, looking up at the jet and kicking it doubtfully.

"Hey! Be careful how you treat my baby. She's very sensitive. Literally. Her sensors could distinguish heat signatures under twenty feet of rock and part your hair a mile off with a missile." Clint looked offended and rubbed the side of the jet soothingly.

Natasha felt lightness contort her features into mild annoyance. "Technically, she's a he, and he's my baby." She brushed past Clint and jumped up on the ramp before taking her seat at the controls.

"Oh, yeah? What's _his _name?" He called after her mockingly.

She looked back at him seriously. "Barney."

Clint sobered up quickly and got into the copilot seat. Banner and Cap filed into the back. They had only been flying for a couple minutes, when Clint furrowed his forehead and squinted into the monitors.

"Is that Tony?" He asked, pointing out the red and gold blur racing towards the ground.

"Yep." Natasha pulled the controls around and pushed the ship for all he had; the only sign of strain was a slight indent between her eyebrows. "Get ready to rip Stark a new one, Cap. If he's drunk and crashing again, I swear I'll sneak into his lab and wreck all his toys."

When Stark's flight didn't straighten out, she was even more confused. When he hit the ground, her knuckles whitened on the controls.

"Damn it." Cap swore and punched the side of the container.

Banner was white-faced. "Get me down there. Now." The last word was slightly distorted, the Hulk coming through, and Natasha nodded, not wanting to see the Hulk in a flying metal bird.

"Doom's there too." Clint said impassively.

They were so close now. Natasha landed with a bump, not caring about normal procedures, and flipped the hatch. Banner was the first to bustle out, followed closely by herself. Stark was lying in a crater with half his suit missing and blood starting to pool. Doom was just slipping away, and was putting something inside a pocket. She caught a glimpse of it just before a shield slammed into the villain, sending him backwards before returning to the arm that threw it. Doom recovered, only to be met with a good old-fashioned right hook from Natasha, who had run at him regardless. The metal mask actually cracked. Doom stumbled backwards, cradling his jaw, and glared at her, before turning tail and running away. He didn't get very far because an arrow slammed into the small of his back and then exploded, sending the villain sky-high. Natasha turned back to Stark to see Banner furiously checking wounds and vitals.

"How is he, Doc?" Cap asked worriedly, clenching his hand in a nervous tic.

"Not good. Broken ribs and arm, bruises, probable concussion, internal damage, maybe bleeding, abrasions, lacerations. I'm worried about splinters of bone digging into surrounding muscle and tissue. But thank God the arc's fine." Banner sat back on his heels as he stared into the face of his best friend. "We need to get him to a hospital."

"Ne-ega-ative." A broken piece of the iron man mask said brokenly. "A-aveng-gers t-towe-er has t-t-the bes-s-st heal-l-lthcar-re sy-y-y-ystem i-i-in the c-c-c-city."

"We have a hospital?" Clint asked almost bemusedly.

"You would know if you ever got hurt on missions." Natasha informed him stonily.

"Of all the times to have Thor not here." Cap looked frustrated and distraught, emotions Natasha had no experience or patience with.

"I ha-ave t-taken-n the-e lib-berty-y to sen-n-n-nd a suit-t-t to y-y-your loca-a-ation-n. It w-w-will be th-h-here shor-r-rtly." Jarvis chimed in again.

Cap put a hand over his eyes to shade them and help him see better. Lo and behold, the faint sound of boosters could be audible. Not that Natasha could see the suit anyway. Her eyes hadn't wavered from the fallen form of her friend. It was strange to see the normally vibrant, cocky, arrogant, generous, pain-in-the-ass brought so low. She stared at him, feeling for the emotions she should be feeling: anger, worry, grief. But she felt strangely void and calm, almost scientific, even. She almost jumped when she felt the familiar weight of a hand on her shoulder.

"He'll be alright. He's a stubborn son-of-a-bitch. He won't take no for an answer, even if he has to fight tooth and nail to get back." Clint tried to reassure her.

Natasha slowly shook her head. "He's already fought so much."

"Haven't we all?"

The suit came, piloted by Jarvis, and assembled around the lax form of its creator. Banner went with it and left Natasha, Clint, and Cap to get a ride. She piloted them into the Tower, barely conscious of her actions because her mind was with her friend. Then, the rest of the team gathered in the hospital room, a white, forbidding affair that was too stark for Stark, while Natasha leaned in the doorway, with Clint as a comforting presence at her shoulder. Stark looked pale and drawn, strangely shrunken with the strain of healing and the weight of concern. The arc reactor was shining pale blue through the white sheet. Dark crescents hanging under his eyes, and a minute trembling in his hands denoted a severe lack of sleep. His injuries were wrapped up and treated. A thin IV snaked out from under the sheet. Assorted machines formed a half-circle around the bed. Banner was standing at the foot of the bed, wearing an unbuttoned shirt, and rubbing his forehead.

"Where's Cap?" Clint asked.

"He went to the gym. Probably beating up a dozen punching bags by now."

"What's the situation?" Natasha cut in, in no mood for dancing around the subject.

"There's an odd puncture wound at his elbow, almost like he was stabbed, but there was no shards of the suit near it, and there was nothing that could have made it." Banner gestured with his hands sharply to underscore his frustration.

Natasha exhaled sharply in recognition. "Could a hypodermic needle make it?"

Banner stood still for a moment, then bustled around to the other side of the bed and carefully lifted Stark's arm. He whipped a foldable ruler from a pocket and measured it, muttering the numbers under his breath.

"It's about the right circumference, right depth, right spot, but I already tested his blood, and there's nothing in there."

"I saw a needle on Doom when he was running. Maybe it's an organic poison or one that dilutes in blood. If we can get Doom and that needle, then we can inverse the formula for an antidote." Natasha's mind leaped ahead, calculating the odds of catching Doom and the odds of being able to make an antidote anyway.

"It's worth looking into anyway. Maybe I can -." Banner was interrupted when Stark flipped onto his side and started vomiting up a black fluid.

He rushed to hold Stark's head, while Natasha and Clint worked to keep the legs and torso down.

"He's burning up and his vitals are all over the place." Banner shouted, doing anything and everything he could to keep his friend stable.

As Natasha watched, fascinated, black lines started to raise and spread out on Stark's elbow. They moved slowly, but fast enough so that she could make out progress. Whatever Banner did, it must have worked, because Stark settled back with a shuddering sigh. The lines also disappeared, as did the fever.

"I've never seen symptoms dissipate that quickly. I'd better -." Banner said feverishly as he started to scribble furiously in a notebook.

Natasha didn't listen to more, as she was already halfway down the hallway. She didn't want to see Stark, didn't want to put a name to the emotions that were rattling their box and spilling out of her tight grip.

"Nat?" She hadn't noticed Clint coming.

He had an uncharacteristically soft and sincere expression on his face. He leaned against the wall next to her. His warmth seeped into her coldness, so she leaned forward, just a little.

"Thanks."

"What do you need?" She needed not to feel, to put everything out of her mind.

"You."

He nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed intently on her. She headed towards her room, desperate to lose herself and outrun her storm inside.

_Some time later_

"This is just like Budapest, all over again." She whispered.

"You and I remember Budapest very differently." Clint chuckled drily.

"They trained us to be cold, to never care, to shoot friends if needed, to never form attachments. They warned me what would happen. It was hard at first, but I took this to heart, made it my one code when I had none. I found that it was easier to mask my true self under layers and layers of false identities, so that nothing could get to me and I could get to everyone. It's not a good way to live, but it's sure as hell a good way not to die. But there's a difference between not dying and living. And I'm so tired. I don't want to just not die anymore. I want to live." She closed her eyes as memories of old demons flashed past.

"You can live here." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she leaned into it, a foreign warmth lighting her chest. "I think that's why you're so upset about Stark. He's created a place for us misfits where we won't be judged and where we can do what we want to do."

"What do we want to do?" She couldn't help asking.

"I dunno. Maybe I'll take up beekeeping and you can go back to ballet. You certainly have the flexibility for it." Clint grinned as she swatted the arm that was wrapped around her waist.

She settled back into his arms, and couldn't help a smile that stole over her lips at the comfort and peace she found within the protective circle of Clint's arms.

**And that's a wrap! Sorry if Nat's too OOC. She's really hard to write properly. I know this is really slow, it'll pick up in a couple chapters. Stay tuned 'til next time!**


	3. Stark Realities

Chapter 3: Stark Realities

**Warning! In this chapter, beware of some good-old-fashioned, boot-to-the-butt, motivational pep talks from the least likely person to do so. You have been warned. **

_Steve P.O.V_

When Steve had first moved into the tower, he'd spent so much time in the gym that Tony had locked him out of the room two weeks in and laughed. Afterwards, Tony set up an industrial strength hook and made new bags out of some new fabric with dyneema. Steve was astonished when the new bags didn't disintegrate under his barrage of blows, and made sure to sincerely thank Tony next time he saw him. Tony had just waved it off and said something self-deprecating. Tony did that a lot: give someone a gift and the shrug it off. Steve always noticed how no one noticed.

Now, don't get him wrong. Steve still mostly dislikes Tony. He's rude, arrogant, crass, smug, sarcastic, and never follows orders. But Steve could see the potential to be a better and happier man resting dormant in him.

Now, Tony's lying in bed, injured, and with no sign of waking up.

Steve punches the bag even harder and faster, blinking the sweat from his eyes. Normally, boxing sets him at ease, but today, all the punching bag does is remind him of the good man dying right now. The bag splits apart, the fifth one, spilling sand over the already gritty floor. He unhooks the bag before putting it next to its disemboweled fellows and grabbing a fresh one. He hooks that one on and readjusts the wrappings on his fists. After that, he begins pounding away at the new one.

_Uppercut, hook, jab. Cross, jab, block. Straight, twist, jab. _

It's not enough. He can't run from himself. He feels anger welling up, and grief trailing behind. Disgusted, he throws one last punch before walking to the bench and chugging a bottle of water and throwing a towel over his shoulder.

"I thought you might be here. Still working the ring, I see."

Steve whipped around, his hand reaching for the absent weight of his shield at his back, before he recognized the figure at the doorway. Once he recognized her, he was acutely aware of how little he was wearing; a white undershirt and cargo shorts. Back in his day, everyone was fully clothed, even at home.

"Natasha." He acknowledged. "What are you doing here?"

She tilted her head, red hair falling to the side of her face. "I thought that you might need a friend-slash-therapist."

"It's awfully hard to trust someone when you don't know who they are." He sat on the bench and wiped at his face.

She sat gingerly next to him and faintly wrinkled her nose. "How long you been down here?"

"I dunno. Maybe two hours." He hadn't exactly stopped to look at a clock.

"In that case, you smell like a fresh daisy." The corner of her mouth twitched up.

"What are you doing here, Natasha? Really." Steve looked into her unfathomable green eyes.

"Tony would want us to be a team. I know it doesn't sound like him, but you're important to him, we all are, and you want us to be a team."

Steve scoffed. "And how do _you _know all this. I doubt he would spill his guts to the master spy."

Her gaze crystallized. "I see, and I observe. What I notice, I can connect. I see him, every day, give people stuff because he genuinely likes them, without expecting anything in return, because he wants them to stay with him. He thinks of us as all one weird family, and he's never had a family, so he does the best he can. And his best is making us happy. Did you ever wonder why he spruced up the gym for you? It's because he knew that you like exercising whenever you think of your past. It's also why he stocks the kitchen up with quality foods for Thor. He made Clint and me a firing range that actually tests our abilities. He even hangs up our used paper targets. He gave Banner a lab and a place where he can not worry about the Hulk. Tony gave us all a home, and wanted nothing for it but friendship and a dysfunctional family. Now, you can sit up here and feel guilty, punch a bag or ten, or you can move on and get your ass downstairs where you can focus on finding a cure. He's not dead yet, and you're acting like he is. Give Tony something back for once."

Natasha left him, stunned, and swept out of the room. Steve blinked.

_Bruce P.O.V (in the hospital room)_

Bruce frowned down at the lab results. They said that nothing was wrong, but obviously something was wrong. His friend wouldn't be convulsing with seizures if something wasn't wrong. There had been two more fits since Romanoff and Barton left, and Banner had held down Tony with a sickly feeling in his heart. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, glancing at his patient as he did so. There was no change. The EEG test had said that Tony's brain activity mirrored an awake person's, which was obviously wrong, as Tony wasn't awake. Bruce heaved a sigh and sat back in his chair, looking at his friend.

He remembered when he had seen Tony rocket past them and crash. The Hulk had roared so loud and rattled the bars of Bruce's control. But thankfully, he had desperately convinced Hulk that Tony was more helped by a doctor than a fighter. Hulk had subsided, grumbling, and a relieved Bruce ran to Tony's side.

Even now, anger simmered just below his surface and lent strength to Hulk. He was furious that Tony had done such a stupid thing as face Doom on his own. He was hurt that Tony hadn't even looked at him after the fight. And he felt guilty that he wasn't there for the one time his friend needed him. He wanted to do something. He wanted to cure Tony. So he ran the tests again, fruitlessly. When those came back clean, he ran them again, and then again. And when those came back, he threw the whole sheaf of paper in the air furiously. Leaning against the desk, he pinched the bridge of his nose and took off his glasses.

"I was worried there for a minute."

Bruce jerked backwards and looked at the spy suddenly in the doorway. He always wondered why the two agents always stood by doorways. He supposed that they always wanted an easy way out if a situation came up in order to feel safe.

"Agent Romanoff. What brings you down here?" Bruce never liked Romanoff; she always lied.

"I had a little talk with Cap, so now I'm going to have a little talk with you."

He snorted. "I'd rather not."

"And I'd rather not stay in the same room as you with the Hulk so close to the surface, but here I am." She said honestly.

"Look, I know what you're going to say. 'I need to control myself' or 'I need to distance myself from the situation'. I can already tell you that I'm not distant from this!" He was suddenly shouting, and when he looked at her, he could see a hint of fear in her eyes and in her slightly defensive stance.

"That's not what I was going to say at all. Isn't it a good thing that I stayed here to hear that?" She tried to joke but it fell flat when coupled with her tense tone. "I was going to tell you to get angry."

"What?" Bruce wrinkled his forehead. Usually people tell him not to get angry. Hulk perked up a little when the heard 'angry'.

"Anger is a powerful motivator as long as you don't let it control you. If you can hold onto it and focus it on something, there is nothing you can't do. There are two types of anger: cold and hot. Hot is here and gone. It burns bright, but fast, and gets out of your system as soon as you feel it. Cold is like a distant star inside of you; always there and always burning. It can bring revenge, and it always keeps you focused on a goal. Thor's a great example of hot anger. I've always preferred the cold myself. If you can feel your anger, finely balance it between the cold and the hot, and it will help you with anything that will erase itself. So, get angry, just don't let Hulk use it all up." Romanoff smiled tightly.

Bruce had never thought of anger as a tool like that. He was always hot anger: ephemeral and destructive. If it would help him help Tony, he would try. He channeled the anger into one big breath, and focused it onto one part of his body. It drew inward and crystallized, like a dying star, but instead of exploding, it waited for the moment that it could go supernova.

Bruce inhaled again and nodded, just once, at Romanoff. She smiled a little and got up to leave, but he stopped her with a question.

"Is that how you always think? You save your anger and bottle it up until it can be used against your enemies?"

She smiled, strained, her eyes distant. "It was. Before I met Clint, it was."

"You love him." It was more a statement, or an affirmation of suspicions, rather than a question.

She paused again here. "As much as someone like me can love. It's different for us, isn't it."

_Clint P.O.V_

Clint felt at peace. Which was weird for him. He always was on guard and ready for any and every eventuality. His breathing was slow and steady, and he was almost asleep. Nat was in his arms, tucked together like puzzle pieces. His nose was buried in her hair, so each time he inhaled, he smelled her unique scent: gunpowder, roses, and cinnamon. They were almost cuddling, and she'd never been one for that, preferring to keep him at arms length, even after their trysts. He wondered what was up. Knowing she would never tell him sent bitterness aching in his heart. When she started to move, he decided to keep pretending to sleep. He heard the rustling of cloth and the creak of metal on metal door. He quickly slipped on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket, and popped the hatch on the air ducts. Stepping on a chair, he squirreled into the small space.

It was a tight fit for his shoulders and waist, but he'd make do. After all, he's made do with worse.

He pulled out the tracker he'd slipped into Nat's hood and makes his way through the ducts to her general direction. She stops outside the gym, so he stops just in the hallway. Her voice and that of Steve drifts up to him waiting in the air ducts.

Clint never liked Cap. Maybe it's the impossible do-gooder attitude or the way he parts his hair. Maybe it's the way that Nat looks at the Captain. They do make a good team, with her deception and his honesty. She probably finds it refreshing. Clint shakes off jealousy and listens harder to the conversation. He bangs his knee into the side of the really too small space, and freezes instinctively.

His mind races as he puts the pieces together. Their conversation earlier, Nat's conversation with Steve. Of course. She's getting the team back up on their feet with a healthy dose of intimidation and no-nonsense toughness with a dash of sympathy thrown in for the heck of it.

Clint grins as she chews Steve out. The grin drops when she quickly walks off and he has to army crawl silently after her. He ends up just outside of Tony's hospital room and listens in on Nat and Bruce's little talk next. It's the average spiel that therapists give agents who have anger management issues, but with a personal spin. He knows Natasha's kind of anger. It's the only thing that kept him going when he was younger, before he met Natasha.

But the end of the talk floors him. He knew that he loved Natasha, but to hear that _she _loved him was … unexpected in the extreme. They were both agents. They had to remain objective. They knew intel that they couldn't tell the other. They had secrets nothing could bring them to say.

They both loved the other.

His heart constricted strangely. Normally it only did that when he saw a gorgeous longbow and had to get it, or a sweet long rifle, or when he thought of Nat when he or she was on a mission. He wasn't sure what drove him to kick out the screen and drop down to the floor, but he did it. He was just leaning against the wall when Nat came out of the hospital room.

"So how'd it go?" He asked.

She paused a nanosecond before joining him in leaning against the wall opposite. "Not bad. I think I talked some sense into them. Too bad I had to do it without using agent brutality."

He grinned. "'Cause you always beat your teammates before going after bad guys."

"I know you were listening. How much did you hear?"

The grin slipped, and he avoided looking into her knowing emerald eyes. "All of it. What gave me away?"

"Nothing. Just the fact that I slipped a tracer on you too." He heard the smugness in her voice, and smiled ruefully, running a hand over his hair.

"Did you mean it?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"Does it matter? A while."

"Okay."

**Just, a note. I don't take boxing, so if I seem a bit uninformed, I am. But I did the best I could with copious internet researching and background knowledge from other books. **

**Did anyone get major feels from this chapter? I know I was almost crying and laughing while I read it, and I'm the one who wrote it! I hope no one's too OOC. It was hard to get Clint right, and I'm still not happy with the ending, but I thought the scenes with Bruce and Steve were pretty good.**

**And just a shout out to my friend writtingnut135723. I don't know why she didn't post last week. So if you're reading this, Nutty, then you should know that I will chase you around with a carving knife or become your internet stalker if you don't post. :)**


	4. Best-Laid Plans

Chapter 4: Best-Laid Plans

**I know, I know. This chapter is super late. Please don't hurt me! I have no good reason other than no inspiration. I hit a slump and couldn't write a word for, like, months. But at least I finally posted! Girl and Nutty haven't! So a friend's friend of mine came up with the worst pairing I have ever heard. It's worse than Heimdall/Fury. It's worse than Frigga/Thanos. **

**Hulk/Jabba the Hut.**

**I literally had to kneel down on the ground, and I think I threw up in my mouth. But I was thinking that we could do a contest thingy. So you guys send me the worst pairings you can think of, review or PM, and I'll make a poll. Okay? Okay. Oh, and it can be from any fandom. **

_Steve P.O.V_

After Natasha left, Steve was shocked to say the least. After a few minutes, he's managed to do more than blink, and had done some deep thinking. Okay, so Tony was severely hurt and possibly dying from some unknown poison. If they wanted to help him, they needed to find Doom and make an antidote, so why was Steve sitting on his butt and feeling sorry for himself? Tony should be the one sitting on his butt and feeling sorry. If Steve wants to help his teammate, he should be out there tracking down Doom. Somewhat settled, he headed downstairs to collect the rest of his team for a meeting. Whenever Steve normally called a meeting, Tony would groan and procrastinate, but would always be there, albeit drunk or hungover, and crack jokes spontaneously about anything that caught his attention. It always made Steve want to laugh, but he was the team leader, so he doesn't have time to relax when there's a threat. Now, he wishes he could have laughed, just once.

Steve made his way to the elevator and pushed the down button. It didn't take long before the doors hissed open, granting him access with a ding. On the inside, there weren't any buttons. Jarvis was programmed to take the elevator to whatever floor the destination was on. It was a blessing that Tony hadn't programmed Jarvis to play annoying elevator music or hard rock.

He was just outside of the hospital room, when he saw Natasha and Clint leaning on opposite sides of the corridor. Their expressions were tense, so he slowed down and stopped, wondering if he'd interrupted anything private.

"Is everything all right?" He asked slowly, but when a thought occurred to him, he took a few more steps closer to the door. "Is Tony okay?"

"Fine. He's fine and we're fine. We were just talking." Natasha's poker face was as impassive as ever, but there was a slight tenseness in her posture that told Steve that he'd interrupted something important to the two spies.

"Hope I didn't interrupt anything too important." He glanced between the two assassins again as he stepped between them to go into Tony's room. He saw the glance between the two that spoke volumes as they agreed to something, and fell into step behind him.

They quietly entered the room to see Banner sitting next to Tony and looking through some reports. The dark circles under the doctor's eyes did little to dispel Steve's worry. Tony looked much the same, still waxy pale, sunken, and sickly.

"What can we do to take out Doom?" Steve never was one for subtlety, which was expounded by the ostentatious suit he wore to work.

"We can't touch him. He's the ruler of Latveria, so he has diplomatic immunity. If we go after him without justification, we'll have serious consequences." Natasha brought up.

"So what _can _we do? We need the injection to reverse-engineer an antidote, and Doom has it." It was enough that his friend was injured, but that they couldn't get the guy who did it, pushed Steve way past frustrated.

"_We _can't do anything. But a covert operation with a seasoned expert would have a pretty good chance of not being caught." Steve could feel his jaw going slack as he looked into the steady gaze of emerald eyes.

"What?" His question was overshadowed by Clint's shout.

"What are you talking about, Nat? I'm not letting you do _anything _near that psychopath. It's too dangerous, and if you get caught, you're a liability to Shield, so they won't go in and get you." Clint was shouting, and a lilt to his voice betrayed a level of protectiveness that made Steve somewhat awkward.

"_Let _me? What, I need your permission? I don't think so. Tony's hurt, might be dying. You saw what happened earlier. If the mission saves his life, it's worth the risk." Natasha had her arms crossed over her chest, and glared at Clint fiercely enough that Steve was surprised his hair didn't catch fire spontaneously.

"But what if the mission falls through? Then two team members will be gone. It's not worth it to lose your life. We can figure something else out without you getting killed or worse." Clint glared back.

Steve sat back throughout the argument, almost shocked speechless by what almost seemed like a lovers quarrel. But he had to agree with Clint.

Bracing himself to deal with an angry woman spy, he interjected. "I agree with Clint. If you do get caught, it endangers all of us, and most especially you. You aren't going to Latveria."

She turned the glare to him, and he half-expected sparks to be shooting out from the metaphorical burns he got. "But it would save Tony -."

"That's an order."

Natasha fell silent at this, and nodded curtly before turning heel and walking away. Clint stared after her, breathing heavily through his nose, before nodding at Steve and walking away too. Steve was left thoroughly confused in the company of Banner. Having nothing either better or else to do, he sat next to Banner, who pushed his glasses up and smiled tiredly.

"Is he any better?" Steve asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"No. But on the plus side, he's not any worse." Banner smiled half-heartedly.

"Any more … episodes like the one earlier?" He hoped not, one was bad enough.

"No. At least he's got that going for him."

Steve nodded. He was glad, but still felt ashamed that he had wasted time when his friend needed him. What if another seizure had happened and Banner was the only one around? He had to remember to remind Jarvis to alert him if something happened so he could come down and help. It seemed like Banner wasn't going anywhere, and Steve was still worried, so he made his seat comfortable and settled down to watch over a sick man.

_Tony P.O.V_

"Ugh." Tony said.

His head felt like a tiny Thor was inside it, banging away with a regular-sized Mjolnir. He was laying on a hard, cold floor. Wincing and staggering to his feet, rubbing his head while he looked at his surroundings. It was dark, but it looked to be his tower, except that it was dark and empty of furniture.

"Jarvis? Hello, buddy? Do you think we could get some lights on in here?" He called out, relieved to be there. "And ready the medical bay. I want to find out what Sparky injected me with."

Nothing responded.

"Jarvis?" Something felt wrong. Why wasn't Jarvis responding?

Tony looked around. It was cold, and rapidly getting colder. Blowing on his hands and rubbing his arms, he set off to find someone else or an exit. He was dizzy and weak, so he stumbled as he walked, and pounded the Arc just to make sure it was working every now and again. He was just getting to the Avenger's common room, when a door hissed open, and Pepper walked out.

"Pepper!" He called out, happy to see someone at last. "What's with all the lights? This is some crappy mood lighting."

She scowled at him.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry." He stopped a couple of paces away from her.

"You're _always _sorry, Tony." Her voice was off, cold instead of warm, and her eyes were the same.

"Yes, I am. What do I have to be sorry for now?" He was clueless to her behavior.

"You don't think about others, Tony. You coop yourself up in your lab for days at a time. You are irresponsible, childish, and I can't take it anymore. Goodbye, Tony." She glared at him again, and he started to say something to her, but was interrupted by another voice.

"Your father was a much better man than you. I can't believe that you're his son. He would have let the other guy crawl over him. You never do anything for anyone. I bet that you liked building all those weapons. I bet that you built the suit just so that you could kill people in the name of your country. You're a disgrace, to Howard, and to the Avengers." Steve was framed in another doorway, arms crossed and glaring at Tony.

"I can't believe that I used to think of you as a friend. But now I see. You're just a self-serving, egotistical bastard who thinks that he's God's gift to the world. You drag others along in your self-destructive ways and expect them to thank you and kiss the ground at your feet. I never should have moved in here." Bruce was in another doorway.

"How does it feel, Stark, being called out on all your shortcomings? You're pathetic. You feel wronged by dear, old daddy because he never loved you. You sleep around because you think that no woman in her right mind would commit herself to you. You act brash and arrogant, because on the inside, you know you're nothing special. You really thought that building the suit and joining the Avengers would somehow atone for your mistakes. Oh, no. You can never escape." Natasha was leaning against another doorway with Clint standing behind her.

The room was spinning, all their words were spiraling into a blur. His breath came short, and stars burst across his vision. But most of all, he was stunned by who he thought were his friends turning against him. _It serves me right, _he thought to himself. It didn't sound like him, though.

"Anthony Stark. I wondered when I would get to see you again." Dread filled him at the voice coming from behind him.

"I believe that you should run." Loki smiled, in full battle gear with the scepter gleaming blue wickedly.

He gasped out a breath, and started stumbling away. This was, by far, the _worst _day he had _ever _had.

**Hope this makes up for the long, long, **_**long**_** wait. I hope to post more chapters soon. If you favorite, you get to sit next to Steve and Bruce. If you follow, you get to save Tony from his delusions. If you follow or favorite **_**me**_**, then you get my undying loyalty and free cyber cookies!**


	5. Defying Orders

Chapter 5: Defying Orders

_**I'm baaa-aaaaaaack!**_

_Steve P.O.V._

"She's gone." Clint's panicked tone jolted Steve from his uneasy nap next to Tony's bedside.

"Who, Natasha?" He asked, shaking his head and rising to stave off sleep.

"Yeah. I went by to check how she was taking it, and she's gone. I asked Jarvis, who said that she left two hours ago." Clint's eyes flicked from corner to corner, and he flexed his hands nervously.

"Two hours, thirty-seven minutes, and seven seconds." Jarvis added helpfully.

"She's probably gone to Latveria. Let's go get her. Jarvis, can you watch Tony while we're gone?" At the affirmative, Steve motioned for them to go out the room. Banner wasn't in the room, so he asked Jarvis to tell Banner that they were heading to the Quinjet and to meet them there.

They fell into a stiff silence as they ran to the helicopter pad. Steve was worried for Natasha, and angry that she had gone against direct orders. She could get herself killed, or worse, captured. And now that she was going after someone with diplomatic immunity, SHIELD couldn't interfere. They reached the landing pad and saw that Banner was standing there, sleepy-eyed and rumpled.

"What's going on? All Jarvis told me was that I needed to get up here." Banner called out to them when he saw them.

"Natasha's gone. We're going after her." Clint bit out, sharply.

Steve felt a trickle of sympathy for the man, but shoved it away. He didn't need it now, but he did need leadership. "It's five hours to Latveria, so we'd better get started. We can wait for her there, then grab her before she can move in. Let's go. We can talk on the plane."

_Natasha P.O.V_

Natasha settled back on the controls of the stolen Quinjet. Sneaking into SHIELD and stealing it had been easy, barely fifteen minutes, and she was halfway to Latveria, Doom, and Tony's cure. Guiltily, her thoughts went back to her boys. They would be frantic, especially Clint. As soon as she was found out, they would come for her. The time range would be a little tighter than what she would have liked, but this wasn't the worst mission she had ever been on. Pushing the traces of guilt away, not conducive to missions, she put on autopilot, and turned to look at the files she had also stolen from Jarvis and SHIELD.

_Three hours later_

Natasha sipped at her coffee in small, measured sips. Latveria was a small, impoverished country, bursting with fearful adoration of Dictator Doom. She was currently sitting outside a coffee shop with a stunning view of Castle Doom, gathering intel on the comings and going of the entrances. Everyone minds their own business, so no one was paying her any attention, which was good for her.

She was there to see who and what goes in and out. Already, Doombots had gone out to police the region, and peasants had gone in to petition their dictator. There was no sign of Doom, which, she supposed, was good.

When she finished her coffee, Natasha left money on the table and got up. Making her way through the winding streets and short buildings, she ducked into an alleyway and quickly took off her stolen Latverian clothes to reveal her standard bodysuit underneath. She jumped on a garbage can to vault up on a rickety ladder, where she could access the roof. Running quietly from building to building, she was grateful that it was dusk, to mask her leaping form over rooftops. She was doing this to keep out of sight of any informants who might reveal her presence to Doom, and to give her a better view of any incidence that might happen down below. Come to think of it, she was acting rather like Clint. The thought made her guilty all over again, so she shoved it from her mind. Now was no time for sentiment.

When she reached the end of the town and the edge of the forest, she dropped lightly down and made her way to the trees, shooting the barking dog in the yard with a tranquilizer dart. It was cold, cold enough to snow, but not nearly as cold as a Russian winter. Thankfully, the forest was thick enough to provide cover, but sparse enough so that she could move quickly through. Soon enough, she arrived at the castle. Several Doombots patrolled the perimeter in front of her. They moved in periodic intervals, so it was easy for her to slip past them. It seemed silly for Doom not to have security cameras, but she supposed that came with having as massive an ego as Doom currently possessed.

Finding a security door, she was just about to pick the lock with a set of lock-picks in her shoes, when it opened to let a harried-looking cook out with a pot of … something that smelled horrendous. She had been able to hide behind the door when it opened, she snagged it after the cook hurried out, and ran lightly into a darkened stone corridor with an arched roof and naked light bulbs hanging down every so often to illuminate the mildewed floor. It stank, but what could you expect from a tyrannical overlord.

There seemed to be no Doombots inside, but she was still cautious, and knew never to take anything for granted during missions. Creeping along, lightly and quickly, she made her way deeper into the castle. The objective was to find Doom, get the needle and poison, then dismantle any Doombot operations so they were unusable. Hopefully, the rest of the team would be along soon to help her out.

The hallway she was in had no doors, but she came to a fork in the tunnel that did have doors. These were square pieces of silver metal with a label to the side. The one she looked at said "Boiler Room" and the next one she looked at said "Doombot Reparation Center" and the next said "Throne Room". Knowing that Doom was as egotistical as much as she was a killer, she chose the "Throne Room" to go into. It was locked, of course, but that hardly mattered to someone of her skills. Stealthily picking the lock, she spritzed a little oil she kept in a bottle on the hinges; squeaky doors had been the downfall of many a good spy, and she was determined not to be one.

Opening the door carefully, she was struck by how cold the room felt. Almost cold enough to snow. The room was made entirely of metal, and columns filled the sides leading up to a throne, ostentatious as she expected. But no one was in the room. Turning to go, she felt the hairs on her neck raise. Something wasn't right. Someone _was _in there. She got out her double guns and sneaked forward, tensed and coiled at the first sign of trouble. Nothing whispered, but she felt a cool wind swirl around her ankles. Her spy-der senses were tingling, and she didn't like it. Didn't like it one bit. A slow clapping filled the air. She cocked her guns and pointed them at the source. Doom was standing in front of the throne now, how he had gotten there without her seeing was beyond her.

"Hello, Agent Romanova. I have been waiting for you. It's never polite to keep a world leader waiting, Natalia." He purred.

"Where's the needle, Doom?" She cut to the point, her eyes and guns unwavering.

"Why, my dear Natalia, I must say that I have no idea _what _your are talking about." He came down a step, and she shot a warning shot at his feet.

"Stay where you are or you'll get a bullet to the eye." He stopped, and she couldn't help but feel that he was amused by the whole proceedings. "Now tell me what you injected Tony with, give me a sample, and let me go, and I might just let you live to regret what you've done to my team."

"It's a little chilly in here, isn't it?" He changed topics suddenly, confusing her unpleasantly. "I must apologize. My new allies have the unfortunate effect of producing cold."

"What allies?" She was worried, which never happened. This could be bad. If Doom had new partners, they were unknown variables.

"Oh, I don't think you've been introduced. Let them come out and say _hello_."

Suddenly, out from behind every column, a blue humanoid emerged, some with daggers of ice sprouting from their hands, and all with fur loincloths. Bloodred eyes regarded her balefully and bloodthirstily, and plumes of icy breath fanned out from each mouth of pointed teeth. The smallest was still taller than Thor, and just as broad. Natasha ran. Doom's laughter echoed behind her, twined with the sound of her footsteps. She normally hated running from an enemy before wringing out all the information she could, but she wanted to live, and the team needed this information.

Sprinting down the corridor, the giants followed her, leaping and jumping over each other in their desperation to get her. She threw a tear gas pellet and a couple Widow's Bites behind her. The tear gas did little, but the Bites hit a giant apiece and sent them to the ground, seizing. At least she had that going for her. They were gaining, and Natasha felt a hand swipe her back, before she jumped up and used the head of a giant to push off, spin, and break the neck of another with her legs, and threw a couple more Widow's Bites. Then, taking advantage of the high ceilings, she used the leaping giants to boost her momentum and took out enough to block the rest. They roared at her, and she faced them and roared back. They blinked, taken aback, and she used their confusion as a distraction while she set up a grenade at the keystone of the ceiling and ran. She detonated it when she was far enough away, and just in time, as the giants started to get over the blockage. A press of a button caved in the roof and the giants howled in dismay as they were crushed by chunks of falling rock.

Smiling slightly, she sped up and exited through the same door she entered. It had started snowing, and already a carpet had lain down on the ground. It crunched underfoot as she ran, thinking about strategies and escape plans. On an impulse, Natasha drew out an old mission statement and wrote a note on the back of it. She put in under a rock and drew an arrow pointing right in front of the rock.

She had to evade the giants, because the burial wouldn't hold them for long, and get to the quinjet. She had to get this information to the team. It was too important. She had to –

Something hit her back and she cried out. It felt like a knife, and it was lodged in her shoulder. She fell, clutching at her arm. The snow felt warm against her cheek. She wasn't coughing blood, so her lungs weren't hit. And she wasn't dead yet, so it missed her heart. She felt the knife, and her fingers came back wet, but not with blood. _Water_. The meaning of this escaped her as her thoughts were spinning out of her grasp. _The team _– the team had to know … something. Her vision was fuzzy.

The last thing Natasha saw before the world faded to black was a set of eyes as red as her ledger.

_**I told you guys that I would post again, and I did! I'm so proud! So, anyways, Girl, Nutty, and I still have that poll going on, and me and Girl are **_**still **_**tied at three votes. Pleeeeeeeeaaaaasssseee vote for meeeeeeee! I **_**need **_**to win! Seriously, I'm really competitive, and if she wins, she'll hold it over my head for years. Don't let that happen. **_**Please.**__

_**If you favorite, you get to comfort Clint in the plane ride. If you follow, you get to have coffee at the café while Doom is stuck with Mjolnir on his chest under the table. If you follow and/or favorite **_**me**_**, you get to have an unlimited supply of cyber grenades and Widow Bites. And if you vote for me, ohmigoshpleasedo, and PM me telling me your user name and something you want me to write, I will seriously write a one-shot for you. **_


	6. Make Up For The Horrors

Chapter 6: Make Up For The Horrors

_Clint P.O.V_

He didn't know what to think. Scratch that, yes he did. He was worried, and angry, and almost sick, _and Steve had given her orders so why did she go after Doom? '_Why did she go off alone' was what he was really thinking. He was a little wounded that she hadn't included him. Sure, he had yelled at her and shut down her plan, but they always went on harebrained schemes together and always had each other's back. That she hadn't included him was a big hint about how this mission came too close to home for her. She was compromised, he was compromised, the whole team was compromised. What Fury would say when he found out about the emotional integrity, or lack thereof, of his team.

_Compromised_.

The very word hissed and slithered around his head, bringing back memories of a very different kind of compromised. Memories of blue eyes, dead agents, and a ledger dripping, _gushing_, so much red that it drowned and clawed and gagged and howled and _screamed_ –

He pushed the thoughts away, focusing back on Natasha and a much-preferable type of compromise, but those thoughts were colored with worry and anger.

"Hey." He hadn't even noticed that Steve had moved closer. _Where's your spy skills now, Barton?_

He looked up at Steve, and, God, he was looking down at him with concerned blue eyes that were supporting and looked like he was about to get a friendly reassurance, which would sound fake, no matter the intentions, and would grate against his heart and ears, which he _so _did notneed right now.

"Listen Steve, I just don't want to hear it right now." Clint said, awkwardly sitting back from his position leaning on his elbows on his knees to cross his arms across his chest. "I know you're trying to help, but believe me, it won't."

The blue eyes looked even more tragic and older, if that was even possible, and he thought that they would belong perfectly with a golden retriever. _Holy shit, he's pulling a Thor on me. _

Steve ignored him. "I'm the leader, and I don't care what you want. Look, I know that you and Natasha were … " He struggled for words here, and Clint took advantage of it.

"Fonduing?" He asked with a snort, a tad too vicious to be a joke.

Cap flushed a little. "_Seeing each other_, and now that she's gone, you're left here while she goes and risks her life. I know what it feels like to –"

"You have no idea what it feels like!" Clint snarled, leaning forward to glare into the blue eyes. The _fucker _to pretend to know how it feels, when the saddest thing he's ever gone through is to be in a coma. "How could you? You, who doesn't have to worry whether or not she'll come back from a mission alive or in a body bag! She knows me, more than anyone, and she's gone. So don't tell _me _what it _feels_ like!"

Steve drew upright, and Clint realized that me might have gone to far. "No, I don't know what it feels like." He said quietly, but with the authority of a man who lost everything, even time. "But I _do _know what it feels like to be the one to leave someone behind. I left Peggy behind, my life, the war. She begged me on the radio, but I knew there was no real choice. Sure, I could have landed that plane, but the risk of detonating the weapons wasn't worth my life. So I chose to sacrifice the good of a few for the good of the many. I was scared as hell, but I did it. That's what Natasha is doing right now. She's taking the risk to save Tony, you, and the world. I did the same thing." Steve smiled sheepishly. "You didn't let me finish."

Clint swallowed heavily. Steve was right. But that didn't mean he had to like it. He nodded a little, and Steve nodded back.

"We're here." Bruce called back to them. "We're outside the castle, far enough to duck under the radar."

Clint hurried to the back of the quinjet and waited, feeling the familiar, soothing weight of his bow, and the comfortable brush of the arrow fletching. They landed with a small bump, and the door hissed open, letting cold air and snowflakes in to dance in the air. He drew a breath, and stepped outside. It was barely snowing, and he had worn warm enough clothes.

"Activate the quinjet tracker." He said quietly, knowing they would hear him.

"A quarter of a mile due west." Bruce called back.

Without any hesitation, Clint set out west. He heard Steve tell Bruce to wait behind to guard the jet, and that they would come back when they found Natasha's quinjet. Within a few seconds, Steve fell into step behind him. Clint gave him no warning before he started running. He already knew that they wouldn't find her there; she was too smart to do something so obvious, and she was too good an agent to stall on a mission. There was an ache in his chest, completely unrelated to running, and he hoped it wasn't resignation.

Soon enough, they reached the quinjet. Clint waited outside, knowing what he would find. Steve was the one to go into the jet, and while he was rummaging around in there, Clint left. He knew that Steve would take to much time planning and coordinating, and that he would have a much better time by himself. It only took thirty seconds for Steve to notice his absence.

"What are you doing, Clint? Where are you?" He demanded over the comms.

"I'm going after her myself. With respect, you were going to take much more time than I was willing to waste. I'll call you guys when I get her. Don't wait up." He muted the device, another one of Stark's brilliant inventions, and kept running.

He could see the castle through the trees, and his pulse quickened at the thought of Natasha being so close. She would have gone in quietly, which meant a side door. He was reviewing the blueprints in his head, when he caught a stark flash of red against white, and stopped.

Blood.

There was fucking _blood _on the ground, and there was footprints and shuffles on the snow around the blood. There was a single set of small, running footprints, and one set of bigger, walking, bare-footed prints leading up to the blood. Wait, _barefoot_? Who the hell would walk around in winter without any shoes? Someone who didn't bother to think about frostbite.

This wasn't good.

Clint walked along the smaller set of footprints, tracking them back in time. They led up to a frozen rock. His heart stopped when he saw the arrow pointing left. That was the sign that he and Nat had come up with to signify a note. An arrow pointing to or away from the rock would have been too obvious, so one to the left would be better.

When he reached out to pick up the rock, his hands sure as hell weren't shaking. The rock was the heaviest thing he'd ever had to lift, much heavier than Mjolnir, and when the plain, white, folded paper was revealed, crinkled and fragile and wet like a baby bird, he felt something break inside him. The note was folded twice to protect it from the water, but it was still soggy, and a corner broke off by the fibers when he opened it. The ink was somewhat smudged, but he could make out most of it.

_Was set up. Didn't get sample. Doom has allies. Blue skin, red eyes, tribal markings, tall, strong. Tear gas ineffective. Bites effective._

_\- Sorry._

He kneeled among the frozen ruins of his heart, feeling a hole yawn wider by the second, and the ground churning beneath his feet. He had known the risk of being involved with another agent, known it from the start, known that it could only end like this. But he'd hoped, oh, he'd hoped. And now, here he was at the end, and there was nothing to keep him from toppling over the edge of the yawning hole stretching out forever in front of him. Nothing at all. Doom would pay.

_Compromised. _

He hoped she gave them hell.

_Natasha P.O.V_

She woke with a start, but expertly concealed it. Her arms and legs were tied to a vertical metal table, which didn't help her stab wound. The room she was in seemed empty, but even though she didn't hear anything, she could faintly feel the heat of another body in the air. She was just surreptitiously testing her bonds, when a laughing voice stopped her cold.

"I know you're awake, Natalia. I can sense you. There's no use in playing games with me, little spider." Doom cackled.

"Oh, I'll let you know when the games start, Doom." She gave up her advantage, knowing that it was lost anyway, and opened her eyes.

Doom was standing only a few inches from her, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of flinching. He looked at her dispassionately.

"Do you know why you are here, rather than dead in the snow?"

She raised an eyebrow. Her arm throbbed. "Because I'm bait?"

He chuckled, and she felt a wave of hatred. "Quite. Very astute of you. Now, do you know why I let my allies hunt you rather than squash you with my magic?"

The word 'hunt' sent unpleasant shivers up her spine. "No."

"Because I knew that you wouldn't get away. And I wanted you to taste the honey of hope, and then have it snatched away from you at the last second. I wanted you to run, little spider, and watch as your hopes shatter in front of your eyes as you fell into my perfect plan." The bastard sounded smug.

She sighed as she understood. "It was the cook, wasn't it. She was sent by you to let me in without me realizing it, therefore giving me a perfect opportunity to go exactly where you wanted me to. I knew that she was suspicious, and that finding the room so quickly was too, but I didn't put it together. There were no doors in the hallway for her to have come from, not unless that was the only door in that half of the castle."

Doom clapped sardonically. "Bravo, Natalia. Now that we have taken the time to marvel at your brilliance, let us get started. As I have some sense of mercy, shall we call it, I will indeed give you a sample of the poison used to infect Tony Stark. Just not in the way you wanted."

She watched as Doom drew a needle from his cloak. Torture was nothing new to her, but this poison, it was something else. And since he had an antidote, he could inject her with it as many times as it took for her to break. She closed her eyes when the needle pierced her skin, and she quickly fell unconscious.

When she woke, she recognized the metal walls immediately. It was Avengers tower, but it wasn't. It was cold and bare, and a faint smell of … something hung around the air. What had she been doing before this? She couldn't remember, and that bothered her. Why couldn't she remember? A faint scuffling noise jolted her out of her thoughts, and she spun around, reaching for her weapons and coming up with air. It was Steve, but he looked … cold, like he had lost a vital part of himself. She knew what _that_ was like.

"Steve, what's going on?" She stepped out of her crouch and took a couple steps to him. Something wasn't right with him, but he was better than no one.

"I can't believe that I trusted you." His tone was harsh and unforgiving. "You're nothing but a killer. I trusted you to have my back, and look where that got me; stabbed in the back." He turned around and showed her the knife embedded in his back. "I thought that you could rise above your nature and become a good person, but I guess you can never change a person. You're done, Nat. You're not an Avenger. I can't believe I ever though you were." He collapsed in a pool of blood.

Natasha staggered back, tears pricking her eyes. "No …" She whispered. "I would never …."

"Never … what, Nat? Kill someone? You've done that plenty of times. I should know. Take a look at yourself, Nat, and see what you would never do." A familiar voice told her, but there was no one in the room. A mirror hung on the wall, and her feet drew her to it. She looked in it, and recognized the face, but it wasn't hers. It was a small girl, barely ten years old, with the classic Russian cheekbones and long, dark hair. She staggered back, and the girl did the same, her face twisted into a mask of terror and her arms reaching out to protect. Her reflection snapped back into her regular face, but her face had the same expression of mind-rending horror.

"Drakov's daughter, Nat. You said you would never kill a child, not after the training in the Red Room, but what about her, Nat? Did she deserve to get killed just for being Drakov's daughter and for being in the wrong place when her father was killed? You gunned her down without a thought; an innocent child, Nat. Did you really think that the Avengers would accept you as one of theirs knowing that you're a cold-blooded child-killer?"

She sobbed, but the voice was unrelenting. "Even without that, who would want to be in a team with you? You lie and backstab and cheat, because it's in your job description. I don't know why I let you live. I would have done a lot of people a favor if I'd killed you when I had the chance, Nat, before you killed me."

She turned around and saw Clint, but he was facedown in a pool of blood. He had been shot in the heart.

"No!" She sobbed and ran to him. "No, no, no … no."

She pressed her shaking hands to his chest and turned him over. His sightless eyes were cold as his skin. He was gone. She held him, regardless of the blood covering everything, and cried into his blood-caked hair. The faint smell permeating the air was stronger, strong enough for her to gag at the cloying smell of blood. She was hollow, even more that she had been at the Red Room. He was gone, and she was gone, and the team was gone. How was she to live with all of this goneness? She hadn't realized she was crying until her tears mixed with the blood on Clint and ran to the floor red. Red was everywhere. Her hair was red, Clint's blood was red, the floor was red, her ledger was red. The red crept up the walls and into her eyes. All she could see was red.

"Pathetic." She knew that voice, and the shock made her immobile. This couldn't be happening. He was _dead_. "I raised you better than this, Natalia. I gave you _power_, and _this _is how you squander it? Crying over a dead man? Weak. Emotional. I should have known you would turn out like this. Like mother, like daughter. Perhaps you require more … _training_ to mold you into a better weapon, because that is all you are and what you always will be, Natalia; a weapon, not an Avenger. You should have never thought differently."

Ivan Petrovich stood in front of her, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders ramrod straight, just as he always had. Then he smiled, and instead of red, all she saw was black.

_Sentiment. _

_**Ohmigosh, I feel so sorry for Clint and Natasha! But then again, I don't. Does anyone else know the feeling of luxuriating satisfaction and smugness when you have total and absolute control over characters? No? Just me then. *evil laugh and smirk* **_

_**In this fanfiction, Natasha was tortured by Ivan, who was part of the Red Room (imagine a Salt/Orlev relationship for those of you who have seen the movie). Any questions, then PM me or leave a review. I need reviews people, it's at a measly eight!**_

_**Favorite/Follow, and get to tease Steve about "fonduing" (gotta love that euphemism!). Review, and get to comfort Clint (not Natasha because she'd kill anyone who tried). Favorite/Follow me, and get to break Natasha out of the castle, complete with fireworks/explosions, guns, your favorite mode of transportation, and awesome badassery. Vote for me on the poll, conveniently located on my profile, and get to thump Doom upside the head and/or wipe some red out of Natasha's ledger. **_


	7. Shadows From The Past

_**Bit of a filler chapter, sorry! Promise we'll get to some plot next time, guys! 'Til then, keep smashing that review button! (As well as the favorite and follow ones too!)**_

Chapter 7: Shadows From The Past

_Clint P.O.V_

All throughout the plane ride back to the tower, Clint clutched the soggy and bent note in his hands. When he had gone back to find Bruce and Steve, he had explained what happened in clipped sentences, then said nothing else. He hadn't said another word to either of them. He was … burning. Burning for anger, burning for Natasha, burning for Doom. The ache in his chest sharpened, and the hole filled with fire. He was going to get her back, dead or alive, whether she was tortured or not. He had to. It was the only way he could live with himself without her.

Bruce and Steve knew not to try and talk, and he was pretty okay with that. He didn't want their pity that would settle at the back of his throat and choke him, not with the taste, but with the feelings it would stir up. And right now, he needed to be angry and cold to get Nat back. He couldn't afford to be compromised, well, _more_ compromised.

When the five hours were up, he was faintly surprised; it felt like five minutes. He was the first one off the plane, and he didn't stop to plan with the others or to talk. What he _did _do was go to the med-bay and stare at Tony. Tony was chalky pale and wan. Smaller veins had turned black, so his appearance was ghastly. Clint looked down at him for a long time. Then, he turned and left.

His room was bland and cold without Nat, and he sat on the bed. He sat with his hands clasped with his elbows on his knees. Looking down at his hands, he saw callouses from archery and scars from fights. One scar slashed across the back of his left hand. He had gotten it when he first met Nat. He had surprised her, and she had the dagger out and moving before he saw it. He had been stunned, and she had run off. He eventually caught up with her in an alley. She had nowhere to go, and she was backed up against the wall. He had looked into her eyes, seeing her determination and defiance, but also the terror and the anguish at her actions. She was beautiful; an angel of blood, and he had decided to help her.

Clint moved to the closet and looked at the two bags there. He and Nat always had something like them. On the outside, they looked like regular duffel bags, but on the inside, well, no regular person would have one. They held fake documents and ids, weapons not carried on their persons, and varying types of clothes depending on regions. They were the things used to disappear. Nat's held a couple of daggers and handguns, and, he stopped when he saw it, a flame-red clingy dress. He remembered when he saw it. It had been the first time he knew he loved her.

They were on a mission, of course, and had to attend a party at some drug lord's mansion. They had separate apartments, and he hadn't seen her get ready, so when she walked down the golden marble staircase, his heart had stopped. The dress fit perfectly, and her milky legs slipped in and out of the slit, while the back brushed the floor. He had been at the food table, stuffing his face politely with fancy party food, and looked up, swallowed thickly, and blushed beet red. She, of course, had been calm and cool, and raised an eyebrow at him. The objective of the night was just to be seen, so they had the freedom to dance. She had walked over to him, and he hurriedly cleaned up his food, before brushing off his vest and presenting himself for inspection like a nervous teenager at prom. When they danced, she had been so graceful, and when he held her in his arms, his heart beat so quick and loud, he was sure she heard it. But she never gave any sign that she did, and they circled around the floor with her head on his shoulder. It was one of the best nights of his life. He had tried to tell her several times over the years, but she had always brushed it off.

Clint found that he had started crying silently, and wiped off his cheeks. Gently folding the dress back up, he replaced everything back into the closet, grabbed his bow, and went to the archery range to vent.

After the fourth round and the eightieth arrow, he heard a noise; sort of a whooshing booming thundering trumpet. Instantly, his fists clenched and the fire flared. _Thor_. He dared to show his face after missing all this? How dare he? How dare he miss maybe saving Nat?

White-faced, he slung his bow on his back and ran up to the roof. Thor was already there, beaming like an idiot with outstretched arms ready to embrace Steve and Bruce, who at least looked solemn.

"My friends! I apologize for leaving so suddenly, but I was called away to Asgard to take care of a -"

He was interrupted by Clint's fist punching him in the jaw.

"What the hell, man? Why the _hell_ didn't you stay, or at least tell us where you were going? Tony's poisoned, Nat's captured and probably tortured, and you could've helped out, but you had to go up to Golden City to help your dad! If one of them dies because of you, I'll kill you, you son of a _bitch_!" Clint felt the fire dying and the hole widening, and he broke off suddenly and turned away.

"I - I was not aware of this. Please forgive me, my friends." Thor sounded perturbed, at least.

"It's okay, Thor. Let's just go inside and talk things over." Steve took the mantle of leadership and the opportunity to usher them all into the tower.

Clint didn't look at Thor, just leaned back on the wall, crossed his legs, and stared at the floor. He didn't want to look at him, because if he did, he didn't know what he might do. He didn't listen as Steve brought Thor up to speed. He didn't want to hear the pathetic, fucked-up story again.

"And so we found a note from Natasha telling us about these … blue giants with red eyes that are teaming up with Doom. Any ideas what those might be?"

Thor sounded grim. "Aye. They are Jotuns; Frost Giants. They live on Jotunheim, and control ice and snow. They are potent enemies, and the slightest touch can turn the skin blue and burned. It is not a good omen if they are here on Midgard after so many centuries."

"They were here before?" Bruce sounded curious, probably adding knowledge to his store of mythology.

"Yes. They tried to create a new ice age and inhabit Midgard, but my father and the armies of Asgard held back Laufey and his hordes of Jotuns." The sick fuck sounded pleased.

"Oh. Okay then." Steve shared a glance with Bruce. "And they would be here to do … what, exactly?"

"I do not know, but if they have allied themselves with this man, Doom, then I fear the reasons might be more bloodthirsty than gentle." _Now_, he sounded worried.

"No shit, Sherlock." Clint snorted before he could stop himself.

Thor looked puzzled, but continued anyway, ignoring the last part. "If this is the case, I must go to my father and tell him the news. If it is as I fear, then there may be only one person who can help us."

After a pause, Steve was the one to voice his curiosity. "Who?"

"That is not the question at hand here. The question of utmost importance is; what is the poison used to infect the Man of Iron?" Clint wasn't the only one to raise an eyebrow at the quick subject change.

"We don't know. He's in a coma, a sort of, uh, long sleep, and his temperature fluctuates from very hot to very cold within minutes, and his veins are, uh, turning black." Bruce listed the symptoms awkwardly.

Thor turned pale. "That is exactly how Aesir react when introduced to a Jotun poison. If it truly is as you say, then the Jotuns have given their poison to Doom, who will unleash it on an unsuspecting and defenseless population. I must warn Asgard." He abruptly stood to go.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, big guy. Lets not do anything hasty." Steve stood up and partially blocked him from the door.

"What are you waiting for? Every moment we wait is a chance that Doom can inflict this plague on your world, and mine. Now, you can come with me, or stay here, but either way, I am going to Asgard." Thor growled, reaching for Mjolnir at his belt.

Clint reached subtly for his bow, a reflex. The room was silent for a pause, and he saw Steve shake his head slightly.

"Fine. We'll come with. It looks like that's the fastest way to get all this over with, but I have to have your word that once we go to Asgard, we will come back, heal Tony, save Nat, and send Doom in a box to the Fantastic Four to do what they want with him." Steve looked straight into Thor's eyes, battle of the baby blues.

Thor grasped his forearm in an archaic motion. "Rest assured, my friend, once we take care of the Jotun threat, we will go after our friends. I would not consider otherwise. I promise that we will do as you say."

Clint looked disbelievingly at the two of them. "Did either of you think about consulting me and Bruce? What if we don't want to go?"

"I would not impede on your goodwill, friends. If you do not wish to go, I will not force you." Thor frowned, looking like a kicked puppy at the insult to his honor.

Clint ground his teeth. On one hand, he could stay here, go after Doom himself, and get Natasha back. Or, he could go to Asgard, speed up the process, get allies, and, ultimately … do the same thing. On the plus side, if he went, he could at least visit an alien planet. But something in him resisted the idea of leaving Nat while she was gone. It was like he was trying to rip off a part of himself; his instincts were too powerful to ignore. And they would be leaving the world practically defenseless.

He made his decision, gritting his teeth against the wrongness. "I'll go." He met Steve's and Thor's eyes. "But not for Asgard or Earth. For Nat."

_On Asgard …_

Whispers leaked from cracks between worlds and seeped into the Realm Eternal. The whispers carried on the wind, between golden spires, and into the deepest parts of the underbelly. In the darkest part of the dark, a pair of ears listened to the whispers.

_So, the golden prince of Asgard needs help. How pathetic. _

The whispers carried news of visitors seeking help, the cause being … _Jotuns, how delightful. _The visitors would surely hear that the only one able to help them in their quest, lies in the dungeons, imprisoned for false crimes, and cast off by family. And when they came to him, at long last, oh, how it would _gall_ them to come, and he would take satisfaction in their misfortune. He would smile and revel, and cast seeds of discontent, while dripping words like barbs. He would bend them all to his will, bend the _Allfather_, the nine realms, and all of Yggdrasil to his whims. And, after so many _centuries_ of waiting and hoping and cursing and planning, he would get his deepest desire. And they would help him willingly in this endeavor, for he will indeed play the part of the monster, of the god of lies, and gain their trust and sympathy, all the while making them dance on his puppet strings.

_Sentiment._

And in the deepest, darkest, most desolate dungeon in the bowels of Asgard, a shadow smiled.

_**Three guesses for who the "shadow" is, and the first two don't count!**_

_**Favorite, and get one of the spies' emergency bags. Follow, and get to punch Thor. Review, and get to teach Asgardians about the wickedness of racism. Follow/Favorite me, and get to go back in time in a time machine and attend the party with Clint and Natasha. Vote for me, and get to scheme in the dungeons with the mysterious "shadow" while you both cackle maniacally and devise devious plans for Yggdrasil-domination. **_


	8. Change of Venue

Chapter 8: Change of Venue

_Clint P.O.V. _

Clint waited calmly, _anxiously_, at the top of Avengers tower on the helicopter pad. Thor was already there, and stood in the exact center with his arms crossed over his chest, looking like the princely leader he was. Clint wanted to punch him again. Steve was on the fringes with a brown, nondescript suitcase standing up next to him, dressed in a tan leather jacket and jeans – perfect clothing for going to a friend's home planet. Clint was itching the back of his neck with an arrow – a bad habit Natasha had always teased him about. _Don't think about her._ Bruce had yet to join them, and hung in the doorway nervously.

"Uh, guys? I'm not sure I should be doing this. I mean, the Other Guy might not take too kindly to interdimensional travel." Bruce stammered out the words haltingly, hanging back in the doorway to the helicopter pad.

Thor strode forward and clapped him on the arm, laughing. "My friend, your green monster would not be able to damage the armies of Asgard. Besides, if the Jotuns are waging war, he might be able to greatly aid our allies." He finished with a grim grimace.

Clint wanted to teach him about the problems with over-confidence, but it worked with the skittish scientist. Bruce didn't look reassured, but nodded anyway and timidly walked forward to the helicopter pad where Clint and Steve were waiting.

"So. This all seems … horrible." Bruce said quietly, looking down at his shoes, then up at them.

"We've seen worse." Steve half-smiles, but it's too soon to joke about the circumstances, so he stops smiling.

Thor glances around at them all, and Clint notices how haggard the guy looks. His beard is scruffy, his armor is banged up, and there's shadows underneath his eyes. Clint's amazed he didn't notice it before, but to be fair, he _was _busy working himself into a righteous rage. But he does feel a glimmer of sympathy for the guy; it looked like he'd been through a war, and really did just get back.

"Heimdall, by your leave!" Thor bellows up at the sky.

Nothing happens. Clint's just about to snicker and make a remark, when a beam of light crashes down on them, and his world is filled with a roaring in his ears and streams of light before his eyes. His feet have left the ground, and he twists around in shock before he sees Thor "clenched up" and decides to copy him. He can faintly see the universe rushing by; faint outlines of planets, and the dim brightness of the stars battling with the light of the bridge. It is _so _cool. He remembers that Bruce, _oh dear god_, might've been a little _too _shocked by the transition, and looks back at his teammate. Bruce is looking a little pale, but far too excited to turn, so he looks back up. He can feel his organs tingling and shifting with the gravity being sucked away from them, and it's amazing. All too soon, the ride ends, and he's ejected from the tunnel, and narrowly avoids face-planting on the floor. Righting himself, Thor is _right in front of him_, and beaming widely.

"Not many take so well to their first trip by Bifrost, my friend! Most do not regain their bowels or bearing for minutes after they land!" Thor slaps him on the back with almost the same force the bridge did, and almost sends him to the very same floor he almost collided with.

"Right. Rainbow bridge. It was way more girly in my imagination." Clint mutters to himself.

He turns to see how the others fared with the "trip", and they look a little worse for wear, but fine overall. Steve landed on his back, so is coughing up a lung to try and get oxygen back into his lungs, but he hasn't thrown up yet, so yay for the little victories. Bruce is pale, but his pupils are dilated, so Clint looks at him a little warily, until he realizes that his pupils are dilated because, _oh yeah_, he's in an alien world and a scientist would have a field day examining the planet. Satisfied, he looks at his surroundings. They're in a golden observatory-type thing, and there's a window looking out across foreign constellations right in front of them. The walls look like the inside of a clock, and the architects look like they had a fetish for gold, judging by the fact that _everything _was made of gold.

Someone clears their throat behind him, and he whirls around, reaching for his bow and having an arrow drawn before he is turned around completely. There is a dark-skinned man there on a step-stone pedestal wearing gold armor, and holding a giant sword. The man just looks at him with cold gold eyes and says and does nothing. Clint gets the feeling that he's been judged unworthy of attention and ignored.

"Good evening, Heimdall. I trust Asgard was well in my absence, however brief it was." Thor walks from behind Clint, beaming.

Clint decides to put away his bow, since Thor is treating the snobby guy like a friend.

Heimdall speaks, apparently only to Thor. "Asgard is well, my prince. All threats to the nine realms have been dealt with, and Yggdrasil can begin to settle into peace once more. Welcome to Asgard."

He got the feeling that the last part was meant only for Thor, and felt a little indignant. Following Thor past the gatekeeper and out the Bifrost building, he was a little awed by the grandeur and sheer lavishness of Asgard. The golden palace rose like a church organ into the air, and the city was _literally_ on the edge of the world. There were little private gardens dotted around buildings, and flying craft – _not the Chitauri's _\- swimming around in the sky. The sky was streaked with lavender and pink undertones, and there were two – _two_ – planets in the sky. He felt a little … insignificant, and rebelled against the thought. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it. Right after he wasn't distracted by Bruce asking questions feverishly.

Each question was asked with a breathless tone of wonder and excitement, and was muttered under his breath as he followed Thor. "How are we breathing here? Does the atmosphere have the same ratios of oxygen to carbon? Is the gravity denser here? What are those planets called? What are your constellations here? Are there new elements on Asgard? Do you have the same flora and fauna? What's the technology like here?" Bruce pointed to things during his tirade.

As the questions went on, Thor lost his sunny disposition, and his expression turned to bewildered confusion. Clint had to cover up a snicker as Steve's face soon followed.

Thor eventually stopped Bruce with hands raised as if to pacify a dangerous animal. "My friend, I know not of the answers you seek, but if you truly wish to pursue them, you can search in the palace library, or speak to a mage or scholar." Bruce's face fell a little, but he still looked like Natasha did when she was at a guns and ammunitions expo. _Don't even think it. _

Clint thought he was offering more to stem the flow of questions rather than to do a favor for a friend. He could see Steve nodding fervently out of the corner of his eye, and had to cough explosively to cover the guffaw that threatened to break loose. Unfortunately, Bruce saw that as a sign that Clint was suffering symptoms from being exposed to an alien atmosphere and traveling by Bifrost, and so started up a new line of questioning.

It was going to be a long walk to the palace.

_In the palace_

"My son. You have returned. I trust your visit to Midgard went well."

Clint did a double-take. Then a triple-take. There was _no way _that Asgard had another guy in an eye-patch in an authority position. Sure the eye-patch was gold – to match the whole freakin' city – and the guy in question was an old, white-haired king, but Odin Allfather and Nick Fury should have a get-together to discuss leadership and how much they hate dealing with underlings. It was scary, how the two of them had the same stances and the same cold, calculating, see-into-your-soul stare that made any who stand in front of it feel an inch tall and just about as insignificant as an ant. Seriously.

They had entered through the _really _tall golden doors, and walked down a _long _column-y hallway, and came to a stop at a dais before a golden lounge-throne. The thing was covered in intricate etchings, and looked ancient. The king looked almost as old.

Thor bowed, and Clint stood there awkwardly, wondering if he had to bow too, but Thor was already straightening up and moving to greet his old man.

"Father. I have urgent news." The golden retriever look was gone, and in its place stood a prince. It was very weird, seeing Thor like that. It really made Clint realize that, _oh yeah_, his friend is a _prince_.

Odin's lone eye roved over them dispassionately, and Clint stood his ground against it. Bruce squirmed a little. "I see. I suppose that is the reason you bring these … mortals to Asgard."

It sounded like he had almost put another word in place of "mortals", like "insects" or "clods of dirt". Seriously, Odin was looking at them like they were no more important than blades of grass clinging to his shoes.

Thor ignored the look, or didn't notice it, and carried on, gesturing to them each in turn. "Yes, father. These are my Midgardian shield-brothers who helped turn the Chitauri invasion. This is Steven Rogers, Clinton Barton, and Bruce Banner. They are formidable warriors."

"I didn't even know that Thor knew my full name." Clint whispered to Bruce, who had to bite his lip to choke down an inappropriately timed laugh.

Steve, taking up the mantle of Captain, stepped up next to Thor and dipped his head. "Sir. Agent Barton, Doctor Banner, and I were brought here by Thor in the hoped that we help defend both our worlds from a potential threat, and to save two of our teammates, who have fallen prey to this threat."

Thor eagerly took the opening. "Yes. One of their number, Anthony Stark, has fallen ill, and –"

"A mortal has fallen ill?" Odin interrupted, standing up with his eye flashing. "That is not an uncommon occurrence, Thor. You cannot be asking that Asgard help a mortal for doing what they are born to do. You have a duty to Asgard, not Midgard. You are Asgard's prince, not Midgard's."

Thor's face darkened, and he was about to angrily reply, but another voice interrupted him before he could.

"Stop this madness at once, husband!"

Thor turned to gawp at a woman entering from a side door next to the throne. "Mother?"

Clint looked over the queen. She had her honey-blond hair pinned back, and wore a crème dress. Her complexion glowed, and she had the air of a women a few millennia younger. In fact, she would have been stunning if she wasn't scowling angrily at her husband.

Her demeanor instantly changed into a welcoming mother's as she hugged her son. "Hello, darling." Then she glared at Odin again.

"How dare you speak of the mortals so! They may be young, but they are part of Yggdrasil as much as Asgard is. Your _son_, even loves a mortal. Love is love, whether it lasts a millennia or a century. You will hold your tongue and let them finish speaking, or I swear to the Norns that I will never speak to you again!" By the time she finished, she was panting slightly and two red spots appeared high on her cheeks.

Clint wanted to laugh out loud at the expression both Odin _and_ Thor had. Guess they'd never heard someone talk to their king like _that_. Man, he _liked _this woman. Odin sat back down slowly, and nodded faintly. "Continue."

Thor gathered himself at his mother's glance, and also nodded a few times. "Yes. As I said, Anthony Stark has been poisoned with a venom only found on Jotunheim." On the last word, his features twisted with apprehension. Odin's face didn't change, so he went on. "Another one of their number, Lady Natasha Romanoff, went to acquire an antidote, and has been captured by the very same poisoner, a man named Victor Doom. They were able to retrieve a note from the Lady warning us of what appear to be Frost Giants. If the Jotuns have managed to ally with this man, they will be very dangerous. The man is a magic user, and might be able to transport them off-world. I fear they may ally with other realms and cause an insurrection. This should not be taken lightly, father. I have also promised to return to Midgard with any help I am allowed to aid them in the rescue of the Lady."

"There is nothing the healers can do to cure a Jotun-based pestilence. If there is a cure, then it will take a Jotun to reverse the effects." Odin intoned carefully.

Clint heard a gasp, and turned to see the queen press a hand to her mouth, her eyes shimmering with sudden tears. He frowned, not liking what could make the queen of Asgard act like that.

"And as we do not have any Jotun healers, I do not see how we would be able to help." Odin shook his head, and Clint gritted his teeth.

"You know full well of one able to help, you just do not wish to speak of him!" Frigga broke in, voice rising and lips trembling.

"If he can help, we would accept anyone's help." Steve injected himself back into the conversation, looking between the two monarchs.

Odin looked down on them stonily, and Thor looked on in dawning realization and trepidation.

"You would not be so willing if you knew of whom we speak." Odin's voice was dead-cold and stone-silent.

"Well, who is he?" Steve asked, a line forming between his eyebrows.

"Loki." Thor was the one to say it.

_Loki_. The name reverberated around Clint's head, pinging off thoughts and memories without latching on. Then the room suddenly spun, and he swore. _Loki_. The guy who ripped him out of his own mind and made him kill _friends_ and betray his team and his morals. The guy who killed eighty people in two days with a charming grin and a cold laugh. Clint was furious, _incensed_, at the _idea_ that they could even _consider _letting the asshole _fucker _out of his cage to help them – _him_. They would gift-wrap an invitation to try and escape. What. The. _Hell_. He realized that he was shaking, and that he didn't care.

"Loki." His voice was flat. "You want to let _Loki _out of prison to help me get Nat back and to help dismantle another villain. Yeah, like he'll just skip merrily out of his cage, willingly help us, _not try to escape_, and heal my friend. _That'll _work. I can just _picture_ the look on his face when he's asked to help out the guys who put him in jail in the first place, and the brother who he hates the _guts_ of. That is a truly _brilliant _idea. I- I just _can't _–" His breath was coming too fast, and he had to stop talking and start blinking the fog out of his vision.

Odin stiffened on his throne. "That is no way to be speaking to the ruler of Asgard –"

"That is no way to talk about my son!" Frigga spoke over her husband. "I know more than anyone what he is capable of, but I know what is in his heart. I am not blind to his actions, but he might very well be the only one in the Nine Realms who can help you and your friends. If you wish to save your realm, Loki may very well be the savior of it. If you deride him and shun him, he may very well be the destruction of it. Tread very carefully, Midgardians, for I will not offer any more aid." She spun on her heel, and made an exit that had the effect of sucking all of the air out of the room.

Odin stood up again, and regarded them coldly. "Asgard will not offer any more than this. Thor, since your honor is bound by the oath you foolishly made, you will go back with the mortals and aid them in their endeavors. I will offer you Loki's services, but only if you can convince him to help. You may offer him anything except his release from this prison or anything impeding his timely return. Other than this, Asgard will leave Midgard and all its people to their own devices to solve their problems."

Steve looked like he had swallowed a lemon, and stiffly nodded. Clint stared at him incredulously, and was about to open his big mouth again, but Bruce shook his head gravely, and he stopped.

"You may stay for today and tomorrow, but you will be gone by the second morning." Odin gestured to Thor, who nodded and bowed again, his face stormy and tumultuous.

Thor led them out of the room, and Clint looked back once to see Odin, still standing, staring after them with a hard, impartial, detached scrutiny.

_**Can I just say, if it isn't obvious already, I just loathe Odin. His A+ parenting skills got everyone into the whole mess in "Thor", and I blame him for everything that happened with Loki. I absolutely adore Frigga, and cried in the theater in "Thor 2" (you know the scene).**_

_**Anyway, if you follow/favorite, you get a Bifrost bridge ride to a world of your choosing. If you follow/favorite me, you get to meet Frigga and gossip/chat with her, as well as learn her knife-fighting techniques. If you vote for me, you get to slap Odin upside the head and give him a good, long lecture on how he screwed up parenting and taught his kids how to be racists. **_

_**Next time on "Only Therapy Could Save Us". Will the team meet Loki? Will Clint keep his cool? Will Loki agree to help? Will the author finally explain the title? Tune in next time, on "Only Therapy Could Save us".**_


	9. Old Pains

Chapter 9: Old Pains

_Loki P.O.V._

Loki paced around the confines of his cell – his _cage_. Ever since he had felt the trembling in Yggdrasil's branches heralding a momentous event, he had been on edge. Only something reality-shattering would cause something like that. And the origins had originated from Midgard, but the length of time between each quiver was from Jotunheim. Ergo, a catastrophe happened on Midgard initiated by Jotuns. The mortals would have ran to Thor for help, and Thor would have come to Asgard like a good dog, possibly leading the antagonists right to Asgard. And Asgard would want to keep its nose out of Midgard's business, and send someone replaceable to "help" the mortals. Loki knew his time was coming; it was only a matter of time.

Stopping suddenly, he slammed both palms into the golden barrier separating him from the rest of the world. The pain of singed flesh stung his nostrils and calmed his whirling thoughts. He pulled his hands back and regarded where the red and angry flesh blended into white and unmarred.

His hands were not his own; he knew that now. His true flesh was blue, his true blood was black. He was a Jotun, a _Frost Giant_; bane of Yggdrasil.

Curling his hands, the pain did nothing to bring him out of his pensiveness. He was born to bring ruin and death. He was raised to lie and deceive. It was his birthright to bring the end of Yggdrasil.

But he was tired.

He was tired of the lying, tired of the jealousy, tired of the anger. He was tired of the hurt, and of the never-ending cycle of running, capturing, and escaping. He was tired of being away from … _them _for so long. And yet, he couldn't let go of the sheer _hatred_ that _burned_ so brightly in his heart. It was the only thing that had sustained him over the centuries, and when he fell from the Bifrost. His nature was chaos, change, and he couldn't adapt himself to survive. It was laughable.

It was laughable at how he had bought the Allfather's lies for so _long_, how he had blindly accepted being inferior to Thor. He had always wondered why he was never as loved as Thor, why the Allfather never favored him with kind words or a _father's pride_. It was all so clear now, why his so-called _friends _had scorned him and mocked him for his interests and words, why the Allfather had _always _chosen Thor over him. How had he not noticed that he looked _nothing _like his supposed parents, or indeed anyone in Asgard?

But, oh, he had been enlightened on that frozen field on Jotunheim when that warrior latched onto his arm and turned it a disgusting shade of blue. It had been so clear, in a burst of shocked and gasping revelation, with his breath trembling from his lips and his world tumbling around him. He had stood in the shattered pieces of his life, so much like glass – or ice – and knew, in his heart, exactly _why _he had felt so different all his life. And the truth had hurt. It was no wonder why he preferred lies.

And there, in the ruins of everything familiar to him, his heart had shriveled and dried like a husk, and his mind had broken clean in two. One side was Prince Loki of Asgard, his mother's son. The other was Loki of Jotunheim, Frost Giant, abominable monster, his father's son.

When he had stood on the Bifrost, watched it send out its avenging light to destroy his birthplace, he had been satisfied to the point of gorging with the thought that _now _he had proven his worth, _now _he would be Thor's equal, _now _he would rid the realms of a race of creatures broken long ago. Then, in a twist of fate, when he had hung _below _the Bifrost, he had craved recognition. He had called for his father to accept him, and he had been rejected. His tenuous hold on his desperation and despair slipped much like his grip, and he had fallen.

Fallen past stars, and galaxies, and swirls of blackness. He had fallen past sanity, past redemption, past any loved ones left. He had slipped into the Void, and it was both mental and physical, at least for him. He fell past himself, and fallen into … that which should be left unsaid. And he had reveled in it after a while. It was all he had left.

And so his thoughts came to a circle, much like a certain snake.

Grinding the back of his hands into his eyes, he sat down on the bed and crossed his legs, leaning back on the wall, and cradling his hands in his lap. Strands of hair brushed past his eyes, and he mused that it was getting too long.

Footsteps.

His head immediately snapped up. He had memorized the guards' patterns long ago, and it was neither time to switch guards, or to bring food. And since the guards gave him his mother's gifts with meals, these footsteps were extremely irregular. And more than one, it seemed. A set of four footsteps was drawing closer.

In a burst of clarity, Loki grinned. It was the mortals, here to enlist him in their cause. How dull. He rose from his sitting position, and turned to face the wall facing the corridor, lamenting his lack of proper attire and bathing supplies. Clasping his hands behind his back, he stood straight and proud, delighting in the confrontation about to take place. _Let the games begin._

The footsteps stopped just outside the cell, one pair scuffling awkwardly a half-second after the rest. Loki felt his heart beating fast and loud, and the tension coil in his limbs. It was glorious to hold all the power again.

"Loki." Thor sounded somber.

"Hello, _brother_." He said quietly. "I trust you and the mortals are well."

A snort sounded from behind. Agent Barton.

"Now is not a time for play, brother. We need your help." Norns, the idiot sounded like he was trying to garner pity.

"And why should I help you?" Staring at the wall was getting dull, so he turned around to face the Avengers … or what was left of them. The Man of Iron and the woman who had bested him in a game of words weren't there. But Agent Barton was, and was glaring as if it was a knife sinking in his skull.

"Because the Nine are in danger. You would not want to rule over a ruined wasteland, would you not?" Thor, the _oaf_, was actually using his brain for once.

Loki smiled, making sure every inch of his madness was visible in the rictus grin. "You must be _truly_ desperate to come to _me_ for help. What, did Odin turn you away and put me in his place? That is the very thing he would do, let me take the fall for him. I would not expect anything less from him." Every word was silk that smoothed its way from his throat and into their ears.

"Enough. You can either help us, or not. Either way, you end up right back here in this cell. But if you help us, we are authorized to give you anything short of freedom. You want a bigger cell? Fine. You want to see sunlight? Fine. Like I said, anything you want, you can have." The Captain intervened, eyes hard, and the righteousness surging.

Loki stood stock still, not betraying an iota of his reaction. Anything? A glimmer of hope flickered to life in his chest before he crushed it. It was amusing to see what they would be willing to do to gain his aid.

"Anything, Captain? I just have to return to this cell and carry out the rest of my sentence? Well, that leaves a lot of loopholes. If I want to rule Yggdrasil, I could do it from this cell. If I want your executions, I need not leave this cell. You see, that is not much of a limitation." Loki purred, stepping forward slowly until he was at the humming edge of the barrier.

"Cut the crap, Loki. Stop playing with us." Agent Barton suddenly reared up and slammed the barrier in front of him.

Loki stared at him in disdain, then continued without acknowledging his existence. "What, exactly, is the situation?"

"We were fighting a, uh, Doctor Doom, a genius magic-wielder, and he poisoned Stark. Romanoff went after Doom, and got captured. She left a note with a description of her attackers that Thor recognized as Frost Giants, as well as the poison used. Basically, one of the most dangerous men on earth teamed up with some of the most dangerous enemies of Asgard, and could maybe destroy the other eight." The doctor was the one to speak up this time, and Loki betrayed no hint of the wary trepidation that sprung up in the wake.

He smiled and laughed at the glorious electricity arcing up his spine. "I like this. All worlds in the balance, and you bargain for your friends."

"We don't bargain for our friends." The Captain now had the most endearing line between his eyebrows.

"No. You bargain my safety for baubles. What could I possibly need from you? I cannot have my freedom, so what left is there to give? Begone. You need me far more than I need you." He was testing them. He _had _to see how far they would be willing to go.

"We do need you, and we are desperate, so what's it gonna take, Loki? What's it gonna take to get you to help us?" The Captain sounded exasperated. Good.

Loki paused, looking at the faces of his enemies. The doctor was expressionless, carefully blank. The archer was pale and shaking with fury. The prince was downcast and longing. The soldier was frustrated and offended. He breathed in, hardly daring to hope, and smiled widely, sending tendrils of thought out across the realms and down paths he hardly ever bare to go down.

The words were said simply, although they were anything but simple. Those words would change his life, would right centuries of wrong. Those words were his only hope. All his plots and schemes had come to this, and with the rightness of coming home, he let his conditions be known.

"My children."

A spluttered "What?" broke the air that had solidified between them.

"Oh, yes, Agent Barton." He flashed the stunned agent a smirk. "You did not think that a _monster _like me could actually have _children_, but I assure you I do." He paced around the perimeter of his cell slowly, wrapped in centuries of grief. "You asked me my condition, and that is it. I wish for the freedom of my children, and the ability to visit them whenever I wish to. _That _is my bargain. I will help you save your lady, heal your friend, and demolish the Jotuns in any way I can. I offer you my magic, and quite possibly, my life. All I ask is that my children be free after centuries of being separated from them, and watching them scream in misery. They are innocent, and _Odin_ took them from me, without a backward glance to see the agony I was in. So, yes. That is all I want."

Loki snapped out of his daze, and viewed the others' varying faces. Thor was gaping dumbly like a gutted fish. The Captain was shocked, but containing his reaction, as was the doctor. The most amusing reaction of all was Agent Barton's. The man was standing there loose-limbed, wide-eyed; it was comical.

"We … will need to think … about this." The Captain cleared his throat and knitted his forehead.

"Brother, I - I -" Thor tried to choke out some useless sibling drivel, tears starting to form in the fool's eyes.

Loki interrupted the man who had once been his brother with a bland interjection of facts. "No, you never saw the torment I was in. No, you never saw my children." His voice grew into a snarl. " Yes, the Allfather, in his _infinite _wisdom saw fit to take my children from me. You, will all your power, all your strength, never noticed that I even had children, much less that I lost them to your father. And I will _never_ forgive you for that."

He watched in satisfaction as Thor drew away. He knew it was cruel, but it was just _so_ gratifying to see the mighty thunderer brought low.

His attention was brought back to the doctor when he cleared his throat. "Uh, how many kids do you have?"

"Eight." His eyes flickered in pain.

"And where are they?"

His lips twisted into a sick smile. "Why, doctor, they are scattered across the Nine Realms under a spell to keep them in horrendous shapes and to never be on the same planet as me or each other. It seems Odin's cruelty has no bounds."

"What will it take to get them back?" The soldier was the one to ask now.

"The spell lifted by Odin, a detachment of warriors to go to each realm to retrieve them, a spellcaster to lift the enchantments keeping them prisoner, and a diplomat to speak with the leaders of each realm. But I fear the first is impossible, for Odin is as stubborn as he is ancient." Loki said each point matter-of-factly, but injected wryness into the last remark.

The Captain was smarter than he looked. "I see. We'll do what we can. I would guess that _you _would want to come along with, huh?"

He flashed him a smile. "Very astute. But not only for my benefit. Some of my children might be … shall we say, _feral_ from being alone for so long, and could attack the very ones who free them. All in the interest of safety, of course." A spike of longing and unease about not being allowed to see his children shot through him.

"How old were they?" To his surprise, the agent was the one to affect a soft-spoken, weary air.

He blinked in shock, then parted his lips and exhaled a shaky breath. "Sleipnir was the first. He was conceived in … _unusual _means, and Odin took him when he was strong enough to run. Einmyria and Eisa were next, and my first wife, their mother, took them when they were less than a century old, but I could visit them from time to time until Odin took them too. Jormungandr, Fenrir, and Hela were next. My second wife cared not for her children, so it was my duty to care for them, and Odin cast them out soon after. After them, I married again, and had Narfi and Vali. Odin waited so long to punish or prison them, but they were still boys when they were used to punish me. All of them were below their first millennia, about ten of your Midgardian years, when they were taken." He had to take a deep breath at the end to compose his nerves.

The agent's face was stone nodding slowly. "That's … fucked up. No wonder you went batshit crazy."

Loki gave him a thin-lipped smile. "Well, you would lose some sanity if you loved your children and had them ripped away from you over the course of millennia, too."

"I - I … never knew. Brother, I am so sorry." The dolt looked heartbroken, and Loki was content with the knowledge that he felt so. He turned to face his false brother, and his hair rose from the force of magic trying to break free from the anger coursing through his veins like Nidavellir forge fire.

"No, you were too busy with your petty pursuits and fawning admirers to notice your shadow's heart breaking eight times." He said silkily, with no emotion save pleasant politeness. "Ergo, you have no right to call me your brother, nor call my children your kin. I scorn you and your overtures of peace. I will never forgive you for being so wrapped up in yourself, and for not pleading for Odin's leniency because of it. Now, never entreat to fraternize with my children, or I swear to you, Odinson, I will burn your world and topple you from your throne, while I take away any hope of love or friendship."

Thor nodded slowly, and Loki could see the broken clarity shine through the haze of arrogance. Satisfied, he turned to face the rest of the Avengers.

"So, do we have an agreement?" The question hung in the air, quivering and hopeful.

Rogers exchanged a glance with Barton, while Banner looked on nervously. However, it wasn't the captain to walk forward. Hard, brown eyes full of anger looked into green ones full of cold.

"You help me get Natasha back and obliterate Doom, and I'll make sure we get your kids back." Agent Barton's heart was showing in fire through his eyes.

Loki bit back the shock, and smiled a toothy grin filled with the madness of pain and anger. He dipped his head and performed a bow worthy of a king.

"We have an agreement." The words sent a cold chill down the backs of anyone listening.

Barton hesitantly nodded back, followed by Rogers and Banner. Loki's smile widened, and the room was ten degrees colder.

_**Can I just say, I like writing Loki the best, and I think my writing reflects that. And two updates in two days! Whaaaat? I'm spoiling you rotten! Also, since I love Loki and he's my favorite character, this story's probably gonna be more Loki-centric in the future. If you have any thoughts, comments, concerns, or plot bunnies, throw me a review or a PM me. **_

_**As always, Dreamer.**_


	10. Persuading the Stone

Chapter 10: Persuading The Stone

_Loki P.O.V. _

Loki was walking down the palace hallways. His chains clinked merrily, the ugly sound bouncing pleasantly off the gilded walls. The irony of a discordant noise in such an elegant hall was so much like the irony of raising a monster in such a beautiful palace, that it made his teeth ache.

Someone coughed, reminding him of his shadowing "guards", the Avengers. It would behoove him to be wary around them, for though they would be reuniting them with his children, they were still his enemies. He was aware of this, and aware that he would see his father soon, and his body thrummed on a humming knife-edge. And … he would - _might_ \- see his … mother. _She _was the only one who still held claims on his love and kinship, for the sole reason of her many years of love, and devotion, and comfort. Pity she would want nothing to do with him now.

Drawn from his musings by a startled gasp, his head snapped around to meet the eyes of … _Lady Sif_. He smirked at her in gloating show of teeth, and made sure she saw his preening. She clenched her jaw in anger, and her eyes narrowed; Loki thought she looked rather like a toad readying itself to ribbit. _Amusing_. She started forward, only to see Thor and his band of Midgardians trailing behind him. _Perhaps they were good for something, after all_. She bowed, but looked murderous. His smile's wattage increased, and her face darkened. As they passed through the halls, more and more people came out. Loki raised his chin a notch more, and stood tall through the sickly whispers winding their way into his ears.

"_... Monster..."_

"_... Murderer..." _

"_... Shouldn't be let out of his cage..." _

The whispers did little to dissuade him, indeed, he reveled in them. So this is what they thought of him. Good. He had worked hard to live up to both his fathers and his birthright. He _was _a monster. This was how they _should _see him. So, full of this knowledge, the inexplicable freedom of this choice, and a strange flicker of hurt, he found himself in the Great Hall, face to face with his creator. _Odin Allfather_. Loki said nothing, his smile razor-sharp, and walked to the bottom of the stairs, banging one ankle cuff against the other. The noise reverberated around the walls, reminding him of the earlier irony. He laughed and relaxed his stance.

"I really don't see what all the fuss is about." His voice glided smoothly into the cracks of the silence.

"Do you not truly feel the gravity of the situation? Wherever you and your kin go, there is war, ruin, and death." Odin glared two eyes' worth with his single one.

"And there is not with you and your pet gods?" Loki quirked an eyebrow, sparing a glance at Thor.

"We are not gods. We are born, we live, we die, just like humans do." Odin looked disgusted that he, Odin Allfather and King of the Realm Eternal, was akin to mere mortals.

"Give or take five thousand years." The sarcasm was evident.

"Loki, please." He inhaled sharply as a familiar soft voice rang out. "Don't make this worse." She looked even more radiant than the last time he saw her, only now she was distraught and entreating.

"Hello, mother. Have I made you proud?" He ignored the twinge of guilt that ached when he was deliberately cruel to his mother.

"Enough." Odin's eyebrow slammed down, as did Gungnir. "Enough of the misdirection. Be silent, else I will to curb your tongue myself."

Loki spread his hands as much as he could with the chains and mock-bowed to the king – _not _his _king though, never_.

"Now, mortals. What kind of bargain have you struck with Loki?" Odin turned to face Rogers, completely ignoring the one he had once called _son_.

Loki seethed on the inside, as he watched how Odin had not changed. He was still the arrogant, ignorant, foolish prat that had let him fall from the Bifrost. His mother cautiously stepped closer, but uncertainly remained by her husband's side, glancing from her sons to her husband to the mortals.

Rogers cleared his throat and stepped forward. "We have agreed that Loki will travel with us to Midgard to help defeat Doctor Doom, heal Tony, and rescue Natasha."

Odin's eye narrowed, always suspicious. "And what does he gain in return?" Loki wanted to snort at how everyone always thinks that he has an ulterior motive for every action. Well, he does, but not this time. No, this time is much too precious to miss.

Rogers shifted his weight from foot to foot and cleared his throat again, temporarily dropping his eyes. From embarrassment or anger, it was unknown. "We, uh, have agreed that we, uh, will get his children back for him. He will be coming with us to get them, and -"

Odin shot to his feet, and his glare intensified to the point that his magic was rising around him. Loki felt his own magic struggle against the restraints in response, and curbed his pained wince from the pain it caused. "I will not allow such a thing to happen! Those … _monsters_ were punished and detained in just cause, and I will not -"

"Children?" Frigga's tremulous, shaky whisper cut through her husband's blustering.

Loki turned to see Frigga staring at him, eyes wide and brimming with tears, her hands pressed to her chest and mouth.

"Oh, Loki. Children? And I never knew …"

"No, mother." His voice grew softer, and any rage he might have felt at that, was dispelled by the sheer pain her sympathy showed. "No one knew other than Odin and I, and their mothers' memories were taken by Odin as well. Not only did he steal me from a temple in Jotunheim, my birthright, and my childhood, but he stole my children and their childhoods as well." Loki felt the flicker of hurt burst into a well of despair and rage.

"Oh, my son." Frigga rushed forward and embraced him. He blinked, and accepted the embrace hesitantly. "I am _so _sorry." It felt _right_ to be in her arms again, like a child, and his cold heart ached with warm agony at the feeling. But it _wasn't _right, she _wasn't _his mother. But she _had _raised him as best she could.

She was warm, and faintly smelled of flowers and perfumes. It was the scent that had comforted him when he ran to her for comfort as a child, and the scent that had always been there to love him. A wash of gratitude swelled over him, and he hugged his mother tighter.

"It's all right, mother. You never knew." He comforted her in a ragged whisper, feeling his throat close from all the emotions welling forth in his chest.

"But he did." She withdrew from him, eyes flaming with a mother's righteous anger, and turned it to her husband. "Odin! How could you do this to our son? How could you take his children and our grandchildren away?" She was a sight to behold, worthy of the title of Valkyrie, and every inch the warrior queen she was, and Loki didn't envy the one her wrath was directed toward.

Odin, somehow, stood strong through the onslaught. "What I did, was in defense of the Nine Realms. The … _children_ were monsters. They are fated to kill Thor and I, and to destroy Yggdrasil during Ragnarok." Loki felt himself go rigid from rage. To hear his children being spoken of so callously, and because of a _myth_, was incensing to him.

"Ragnarok?" Frigga's eyes narrowed dangerously. "That is a children's story! You know it exists not! It is a myth left over from the last Yggdrasil. Yes, the realms do renew, but my son is not the precursor of such a thing!"

"They are monsters nonetheless." Odin remained unfazed, standing tall like a righteous leader should, and preaching fanatical nonsense like a madman should.

Something in Loki snapped, sending forth a wave of fury and indignation. "How dare you call _my children_ monsters! They were perfect until _you _took them away and forced them into bestial forms! My daughter almost died because of you, and it was only through my quick thinking that I saved her! Now, _Odin Allfather_, let my children come home, or I will cause the legend of Ragnarok to become real, and bring a reckoning so great all Yggdrasils will shudder in fear of me! You have a debt to me many times over, and I intend to make you pay it." He was growling at the end, and was aware that he was pacing angrily, and that his hands were trembling with suppressed magic that rose around him like a cloud.

"Is that true?" It mattered not who spoke, as he was drowning in emotions. His veins roared, and his blood was ice. The emotions he had contained for centuries were breaking all barriers, and the torrent overwhelmed him.

He closed his eyes, and the memories of his loved ones slipped harshly by, like a howling gale scratching with nails of ice. "He owes me. He owes me for taking me from my home as a babe, for taking my birthright as a prince of Jotunheim, for filling my head with lies that I was born to be a king, for taking away my birthright as a prince of Asgard. He owes my children for taking away their parents, for culling their childhoods, for denying them their birthrights as heirs to the throne of Asgard, for entrapping them in unnatural forms away from their family. So, yes. I would say he is indebted to me and mine." He spat the last sentence as if it was a dagger he could throw right into his own heart.

"I owe you nothing!" Odin was on his feet, glowing with kingly status and outrage.

"Odin!" Frigga shouted, scandalized, just as Loki, trembling in wrathful vengeance, roared. "You owe me _everything_!"

"SHUT UP!"

Loki snapped his mouth shut, as his storm was shocked into silence, and stared at the good doctor, who was breathing hard and clenching his fists. Remembering the pain of being thrown around like a doll at the hands of the green beast, wisely decided to not interfere any further.

"Look, I know you guys are gods or whatever, and you're older than me, yadda, yadda, yadda. But the fighting has got to stop. It's not healthy, and it's making me irritated. Odin, you _clearly _messed up bigtime with Loki and his kids, and you get an all-around asshole title, too. Loki, you seriously stepped in it when you tried to take over my planet, but I do realize that you had reasons, but, seriously? You're not helping anything, least of all your kids. So, please, just shut up and deal with this like normal people."

The doctor finished, and rubbed the back of his neck and his face before slumping his stance and waving a hand. Barton whistled, and Banner sheepishly smiled.

"Atta boy, Bruce." Barton grinned.

"Well, you know. Nobody likes me when I'm angry." The statement had a hint of warning forebodance that made Loki shiver a little.

"He's right, though. Now you can sit here and shout at each other, and not listen to anyone, or you can communicate your thoughts and needs like the civilized people you claim to be." Rogers stepped up like the leader he was and took command of the situation.

Loki found himself nodding approvingly. These Midgardians had a way with words, although rough and crude, was not unlike his own. Still, he detested being treated like a disobedient child.

"Very well. I can if _he _can." He threw a cold, unfeeling smirk to Odin, and sauntered forward, making sure to annoy him as much as possible.

As always, the Allfather ignored him, and spoke as if the _mortals _were more important to him than his wayward _son_. "I will not speak of the conditions listed. The children are monsters, and I will not have them released."

Barton sighed and swaggered up to face Odin. "Look, your highness, or whatever the title is. I know you hate the bastard, maybe as much as I do. I get it. But, you know, you _did _give us your word that you would let him and Thor help us, and that would be all the aid we get. So, now, you're kinda going back on your word. And what does that say about your ability to be a king, huh? And, also, there _is _kinda the problem of the Frost Giants. What happens if they get off their frozen rock and take over Midgard, and form alliances with some of the other realms? Peace would be shattered, your realm would be at war, and it would all be _your _fault. All because _you _couldn't let your son and grandkids reunite. So, you pick." The agent held up his hands, and rocked back on his heels, exuding confidence in waves.

Oh, that Agent Barton. His way with words was almost akin to that of Loki's himself. His respect for the other rose a few notches, not just from his word mastery, but from the sheer audacity of challenging the Allfather. Perhaps the agent had learned it from Romanoff. He chuckled quietly; the look on Odin's face was _delicious_. Odin looked as if a dead fish was shoved under his nose. Frigga drew closer to Loki, without a glance to her husband.

Loki, seeing that Odin would need one last shove off the edge, silently stepped across the room, making sure to keep his chains from clinking. He circled the throne as he talked, reveling in the smooth twining of his words in the air. "Think about it, Allfather. If my children are free, then you need not worry about them escaping and turning their wrath upon you. If you aid in freeing them, they will be indebted to you, and will not act against your interests. And in the matter of the Midgardians, just think of the damage the Jotuns can do if they are free to wreak havoc across the realms. Yggdrasil would collapse, and your golden realm would fall with you upon it. But if the Jotuns are diverted _now_, they will flee back to their ice caves, and be a defeated people. The rest of the realms would be ever so grateful to Asgard for helping to contain the threat, and would surely give recompense in gratitude." Each word was chosen to attain the desired affect, and even the cadence of each syllable was carefully pitched as if to tame a wild bilgesnipe. It was working; the greed in Odin's eye was palpable, continuing the parallels to a bilgesnipe.

"Perhaps … I was too hasty. I will allow you to help the Midgardians, and take back your children. _But_, they must never set foot in Asgard again, or seek to disrupt the peace or Asgard. After this is accomplished, you must return to your cell on Asgard, unless I or mine give you other orders." Odin stood tall, a regal king of Asgard, and delivered his conditions with all the pomp of addressing a crowd on favorable laws.

Loki felt a wave of hatred for the old man. The only thing to move him was greed. Not love, not family, not decency, not innocence. It was laughable that he had craved his love for so long. And Odin's color was gold; his halls were light. And yet, his heart was cold and dark as the dungeons of Helheim. But he showed none of this.

"Accepted." His smile was predatory. "Now, I would like to be released from these chains, if you would." He offered his bound hands mockingly, making eye contact with the old fool. Blue met with green, and he made sure to show every inch of his disdain and pleasure at besting Odin.

"Allow me, my son." Another pair of eyes with a different blue shone with warmth, as Frigga unlocked his chains with a spark of her own magic.

He rubbed his wrists, and felt his magic rush back into him with all the force of a dammed river. It curled in every fiber of his being, warming him with familiarity, and assuring his strength.

It was good to be back.

Loki stood straight-backed, eyeing the room, and glorying in the feeling of power and _rightness_. These were his enemies, but _perhaps_, he could find a way to coexist with them, at least for now. They wouldn't trust him, and he didn't trust them. But he did trust their morality. This would be an … _interesting _arrangement while it lasted, and he fully intended to enjoy himself. He grinned at his saviors, and folded his hands behind his back, facing all of them.

"So, when do we start?"

His smirk was wide, promising mischief and wonderful chaos to come. It was more than a little insane, but all is fair in love and war, and this _is _a war. And as the god of chaos, he would be amused at playing the mortals like his pawns. Because war is a chessboard, and he has not lost a game since he first learned how to play.

_**Okay. Time to apologize. I have no real excuse for not posting, other than the fact that I'm kinda losing inspiration for this. But, never fear, I will finish this. Even if it takes me a year. But I hope it doesn't, for my sake and you guys. Can I just take a second to appreciate all my favers and followers for this fic? You guys are awesome and stick with me as I fumble and stumble my way through this. So, thanks for your support!**_

_**I'm really bad at dialogue, and I feel that this chapter dragged and repeated a lot. But I had to find a way to get all the Loki feels into it, and find a way to make Odin look like a douche, as well as find something that would make dick-Odin change his mind. So, sorry for the dialogue-heavy-ness for the last two chapters. Also, if you see any quotes, they might be out of order; it's been a while since I saw the movie. **_

_**Since I hate Odin so much, if you fav/follow this story/me, review, or vote, you get to sit Odin down, rant to him, punch him, cuss him out, and generally make him see the folly of his ways. Then, you get to stare at Loki in full regalia from Avengers holding an Australian Shepard puppy. Cue Awwing! **_


	11. It's Good To Be Bad

Chapter 11: It's Good To Be Bad

_Natasha P.O.V. _

She was huddled in a corner of the penthouse, hugging her legs, and crying. Ivan had left, and she was alone. But she was never alone. Her ledger was always with her, dripping over her and drowning her in red.

The walls were running with red, and Natasha was covered with it. Red from her, red from Clint, red, red, red. Pain was red, too, and she was awash with it. Every movement sent a spike of agony up her spine, and she was sluggish and slow; bad things to be for a spy. She knew that Ivan would come back any minute now, and restart his "training". She also knew she wouldn't survive a second round.

There was nothing to do. Steve was dead, _Clint _was dead, she was dead.

She was so lost in her thoughts that it took a second to identify that _noises _were coming from outside the tower, clangs and screams and gunshots. Dragging herself up to her feet, using the wall to support her weight, leaving a smear of red on the red, she walked to the window, wiping away the blood from it and grimacing from the sticky texture. When she had first arrived, the city had been empty; no movement, no wind, no noise, no light. Now, it was much the same, except with a bloodred sky. Nothing was happening that would make those noises. Frowning, she looked out across the desolate city she had sworn to protect, and wiped the blood running down the window away again.

_Loki P.O.V. _

It was good to be out of his cell. Granted, it was only for so long, but he would take what he could get. The only downside to being out of prison, was that any skills had become rusty when unused for so long. As it was with his fighting abilities.

It had been relatively easy to transport the mortals and himself, as well as his oaf of a not-brother, to Midgard without the scrutiny of outside forces. His magic, after lying dormant for so long, was eager to burn any excess, and they had arrived unharmed in the tower he had used in his takeover attempt. After that, they had left unnecessary equipment, and brought their weapons. Then, he had transported them to Latveria, within a mile of Doom's castle. It had been easy to get the Avengers to hold off the bulk of the army outside, while he had entered the castle unhindered.

Now, Loki was wrapped in shadows, sneaking around the fortress. It was a dismal place, full of mold and mildew, and a persistent stench of rot. It was also deserted, and he had little chance of being discovered, if not for the small, blinking lights on the ceiling that recorded images and showed them to watchers. He _could_ lift the invisibility spell and conserve magical energy, but it was better to err on the side of caution.

His plan was to find the information centers in the castle, then interface the systems with his magic to gain every scrap of data stored there, and find Agent Romanoff. From there, he would reconvene with the group outside, and they would gain the antidote from Doom. Simple and effective, but much could go wrong.

But all was going well, until a cook entered his corridor from a kitchen, turned, and ran right into him. The concealing spell, not made for body contact, dissolved on impact. Upon seeing him, she screamed and made to press a button on a device on her wrist. Loki cursed, and slit the woman's throat, but not before she pressed it. Immediately, the room filled with red lights and blaring noises. Surely not a good sign.

"Damn." Loki growled, and started running.

His customary battle armor materialized around him as he sprinted, even the cursed helmet. Trapdoors were opening in the brick in the walls, floor, and ceiling, and depositing Doombots ready to attack. Rolling over the back of one, he stabbed another in the throat, then used the body still on his dagger to slam into a third. His twin daggers became glints of light as he twirled, parried, and hacked his way through the copies. A burst of lightening interrupted his dance, and he staggered back, hearing a slight ringing noise and tasting metal.

"You think that little spark will harm me? Try having the god of thunder as your brother!" He snarled at the offending copy, and twisted its neck with a wave of his hand.

It was glorious, the heat of battle. It had been far too long that he had not felt the rush of adrenalin in his veins, and the chaos of death and blood singing in his heart. _This _was his element, and he was in the thick of it. It filled the air around him in a familiar deadly aura, and he relished it. When he realized he was smiling madly, his grin widened even more. _Oh, it was good to be back._ The power he held over life and death was intoxicating, and he was drunk on it. It filled him like a strong brew and glowed within him powerfully. This, _this_, was living. The stoppage of life, the victory of death; _this_ was true power.

But, little by little, as humiliating as it was, there was too many for even a god to handle, and he was tiring rapidly. His magic was not, however. So when he was backed up against a wall with copies advancing on all sides, he bared his teeth in a savage smile and raised his hand palm-out. A wave of hellish fire unleashed from his hand, and enveloped the oncoming Doombots, incinerating them and anything else in the hallway. Breathing hard, Loki sagged a little, before inhaling deeply and standing up. But something felt wrong.

Something was nagging at the back of his mind, but for the life of him, he couldn't tease it out into the light, where he could see it, and examine it, and learn its mechanics. This bothered him, and uneasiness rested inside him while he reached the center of information.

The room was of medium size, and filled with the machines called computers. Of course, being an alien from a society with technological disadvantages, he had no idea of how to work them. Fortunately, he had magic to ease his ignorance.

Placing a hand on one of the screens, he called it up to his fingertips. His magic whispered and slithered like smoke into the machine, and Loki could _see _everything in the computer. It appeared as a grid of lines connecting pieces of information with others. The lines appeared random, but he knew it to be a facsimile of the human brain, from how mundane and arbitrary the connections were. Ignoring the cat videos and much of the Internet altogether, he sifted through the mountains of information with the processing speed of … well, a computer. He just hoped that Doom had been stupid enough to record prisoner dwellings and maps. And he was. Drawing up a map of the castle, he identified the prisoner cells and how to get there from the room he was currently in. This done, he had a destination, and hopefully, a viable way out without depleting his magic further.

Loki left the room as quietly as he had come in, and frowned again. Now, the niggling thought was two, and it worried him. He had to account for everything in this plan, and those two things could be important.

The silence unnerved him; a castle this large would have _some _type of background noise, as it could not _only_ be populated by Doom and his copies.

_Silence. _Yes, of course.

Why was it so silent? The copies he had defeated couldn't be the only ones in the castle; Doom was too paranoid and egotistical to send them out willy-nilly. So why wasn't he being attacked? Not that he wanted to be, of course, but the thought was worrying.

Unless, of course, Doom wasn't there.

But where would he be? He had been in the castle before they started the attack, Loki had made sure of it, but now Doom and the bulk of his copies were nowhere to be found.

The hairs on the back of Loki's neck rose as a possibility presented itself to him. What if, Doom, knowing they would attack, let them fight a distraction, and waited until the attack was in full swing, before taking Agent Romanoff and escaping? That would explain the lack of Doombots, people, and Doom himself.

"Damn." He said again, not liking when he was outsmarted by a _mortal_, of all things.

Mustering his magic, he teleported to the prison block to make sure that he was correct in his assumptions. He was. So, teleporting again, he found himself in the midst of a sizeable group of Doombots, who turned in unison to stare at him. He sighed once, before moving to throw them away with a burst of magical telekinesis. Seeking out the Captain, he found him almost five hundred paces away, and ghosted up to him.

"Captain."

The man yelled and wheeled around, shield at the ready. Upon seeing Loki smirking devilishly, he loosened his stance and rolled his eyes. "What?" The poor man sounded peeved.

"I came to warn you that neither Doom nor Agent Romanoff were in the castle. They are somewhere out here, I believe, if they have not fled already."

The Captain sighed, waving a hand in the general direction of the Doombots. "Great. Now we're looking for a needle in a haystack made of needles."

Loki flashed a smile. "Not quite. The magical signature of a robot is very different from that of a flesh-and-blood magical user. If I can sense him, I can lead to you him, and your lady." He made sure to stress the 'your' just to poke at the captain.

"Okay. You do that then. I'll let the rest of the team know to retreat and fall in." He put a hand to his ear, and started firing off instructions.

Loki didn't pay attention; he was too busy sending out tendrils of magic to find Doom. His magic wormed and weaved through the surroundings. He was _everywhere_ that his magic touched. He was an ant digging into the ground, a tree filled with slow-moving life, a breeze filtering through the leaves, a piece of a Doombot's machinery. He felt the sweat beading on the Captain's forehead, and each breath that rasped out between his teeth. Extending his senses further, he was beset by a flood of emotion so forceful it formed words shouted in his psyche.

_RAGE HATE PAIN RESENTMENT _

_**I AM A GOD**_

_MALEVOLENCE EVIL _

_HATE RAGE ANGER _

_DESTROY __**EVERYTHING**_

_I AM WHAT __**YOU**__ MADE ME _

_MAKE THE WORLD __**BURN**_

_THEY WILL __**PAY**_

The sheer ferocity of the emotions pelted and overwhelmed him. Frantically grappling to separate his magic and mind from the painful ripping of insanity, he knew that if he did not, he would, at the very least, die, or be unable to return to his body, and thus leave it in a catatonic state bereft of a mind. His magic had wound itself into the spell, and it was very difficult to untangle them. _Almost there_. The tendrils of insanity clutched at his fragilely fractured mind, and made it almost impossible to tear himself away. _Done_. He feverishly threw himself away from the stinging clutches of the mind, and back into his body. He stood in shock for a second to make sure that it had worked, then assured himself that _of course _it worked,after all, _he_ was the one to cast the spell. In his astral trip, the other Avengers had come to stand around him, and he had not heard them, which was irritating. Apparently, it had taken him some time to untangle himself.

"Does this happen a lot?" The doctor whispered to Thor.

The oaf presumed to know Loki and the workings of his most secret magic and explain it to others. "Yes. Often, he will do this to find out where enemies have hid, and travel to slay them before they even know that he is near. It is a very useful skill, and one that he does not use lightly as it –"

"As it opens my mind to the full might of Yggdrasil and leaves it open to attack." He interrupted, rising to his feet, a little stiffly, not that he noticed.

"Brother, you are unharmed. Have you found the location of Doom?" Thor looked relieved, the idiot.

"I found _something, _but I am unsure as to whether it is Doom or not. The mind was … _unstable _at best, and utter madness at worst. The things that mind is willing to do … I cannot fathom." The last part was an utter lie, but he shuddered convincingly enough. The mortals need not know how similar the mind was to his own.

"So, basically, his brain is like a bag of cats." Barton snickered and elbowed Banner, who reluctantly smiled sheepishly.

"Well, this bag of cats is our best hope. Where do we have to go?" Rogers asked, ignoring the childishness of his companions.

_Doom P.O.V._

Victor Von Doom grinned in delight. His plan had gone according to plan. The Avengers had came and gone, and he had snuck out right under their noses! Really, they were stupid not to have suspected anything, but how could they? His plan was beyond the grasp of their inferior minds!

The only thing he _didn't _know was who tripped the alarms in his castle. All of the Avengers, at least the ones that were left, had been accounted for.

But it didn't matter. He was far away from his castle, with the remains of his army and with his little spider. She was unconscious, and still trapped in her mind. It was gratifying to see the infamous Black Widow so … _vulnerable_.

He rubbed the cold metal of his mask with a gloved hand, feeling the disfigured scars burning a little with the metal replacing parts of his skin. They always hurt, sometimes more than others, and there was no cure. It was a constant reminder of what he had lost, and what he had gained. Really, he had gotten the better end of the mutation, he thought.

Natalya whimpered, and his attention was brought back to her. She was a beautiful woman, and his eyes traced the curve of her pale cheek, and the dull redness of her hair. Currently, her eyes were moving under her eyelids, and sweat was beading on her forehead. _Beautiful_. He stroked her cheek with one gloved hand, and enjoyed her automatic flinch. He _would _see her break.

Her head moved to face the ceiling, and her profile reminded Doom of another woman, laying in just the same way. _Sue_. Abruptly, he withdrew his hand, feeling the familiar anger burn. Any regret he may have felt for harming her was dispelled from his mind. She had made her choice, and he had made his. Just because she was another pretty face, that didn't mean anything. She was _nothing_. But, nevertheless, Richards would pay for taking her away.

The world was just ripe for the taking, and he would be the one to tame it. He would have unimaginable power at his fingertips, and he would make the world _burn_, because he wanted it to know that _he _was its master. He would show that _he _and he alone was worthy to subjugate the world, not that uppity Asgardian who attacked Manhattan. And he would show Sue just what she passed up by choosing Reed. And he would show the world that it would only truly be safe with him as its leader.

_**Shaking it up a little! I thought I would try to make Doom a little more redeemable and relatable, but I kinda veered from that. Oops. **_

_**And, YES, some Loki-badassery! Yes, that is the same cook that Natasha ran into. Yes, Loki did refer to Thor as his brother and didn't say anything when Thor called him the same (if you didn't find them, re-read!). Yes, Loki did avoid cat videos, and the say "willy-nilly". I honestly love my mind sometimes!**_

_**Since I can't keep a secret, and I like all of my favers/followers, I'll give you guys a little spoiler for the upcoming chapter. IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILERS DON'T READ THE NEXT TWO SENTENCES! **_

_**What if the second niggling thought that Loki had was about the Jotuns? And where did they go?**_

_**Think about it, review with your theories, and check in next time to see if you got it right! Bye, guys! Oh, and does anyone have any thoughts on why Loki doesn't like his helmet?**_

_**~Dreamer**_


End file.
